


Plus or minus uncertainty

by Almaaz



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Hinata Shouyou, Eventual Romance, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Like frying a steak with matches, M/M, Shiratorizawa Hinata, Slow Burn, Volleyball, no beta we die like men, simping for hinata is a lifestyle, towards the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24414505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almaaz/pseuds/Almaaz
Summary: The plan to life undoubtedly includes a plus or minus uncertainty.Basically what if, Hinata's family dynamic was slightly different? And what if, Hinata went to Shiratorizawa instead because of that.On an academic scholarship of all things.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 252
Kudos: 1024





	1. Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This is my first story. 
> 
> Umm it sucks for now, but I've got a rough plan and it should start picking up in the next chapter or two. This is more of a doorway that I'm building before the plot actually begins to develop.
> 
> Also, I'm rather bad at writing at the beginning but it does get better around chapter 6! Please bear with me!

_There was a time, when Shōyō was young and his family was whole, that he believed he could do anything, be anything he wanted to be._

_Under the purely cheerful aura of his sister, the unwavering love of his parents and the world that stretched out in beautiful technicolor in front of him, he truly believed that this life was enough._

_Looking back, that feeling must have been so fragile for it to have shattered with a single blow._

* * *

“Please take good care of Natsu today!” Shōyō declared with an unnecessary drama, bowing deeply. He peeked sideways at his sister cheekily as she did the same, gripping his hand just as tightly in warning and a blush on her cheeks. In contrast to her eyes, which glinted with some sort of indignation, her head tilted to the side respectfully. He bit his lip, this never got old.

To be fair to her, at this point she was rather self-sufficient, but Shōyō still reserved the right to embarrass her no matter how old she got.

He grins, hit by a wave of affection from his little sister, who's sheer existence is practically the best thing to happen to the world.

“Shōyō-kun,” her prep school teacher sighs fondly, “Natsu-chan has only been delightful to have here, right?" to which Natsu looks up, offering a grin.

"Shōyō-nii does this every time though." she whines.

Aki-sensei giggles in agreement. "Is your mother busy this morning?" her voice, mild and friendly, draws his attention.

“Yep! She had an early meeting so I’m dropping Natsu off this morning.” he smiles happily, before twisting his toes to make towards his bike again. "I've got to get going to cram school now though."

“I understand. Come by sometime next year, though! I understand that with your fancy new school in Sendai taking up your time you might be busier than ever, but please remember that you can still rely on me.” she smiled warmly, teasing.

Shōyō nudges Natsu towards her teacher “Thank you! See you, sensei!” he waved, hopping on his bike.

Even though Shiratorizawa would be much farther than the distances he was used to with Yukigaoka, Shōyō thinks that it won't really be such a big deal. Memories of countless hours spent biking up and down the hill for grocery runs and medical appointments flood his brain, reassuring him that 12 or so kilometers don't mean as much as the numbers behind it.

"Hinata's running a few minutes later than normal today..." he hears Koike-san remark as he passes by. He cheerfully chimes a response about needing to drop off Natsu that morning.

"Poor boy, he doesn't seem to be growing does he?" Fujimoto-san turns to reiterate - as he does almost weekly - at his wife who berates his bluntness as she does every time. Shōyō shakes his head with a grin.

“Oh its Hinata-kun! Good morning!”

Whispers and calls that have been following him for years continued to be voiced, the comfort of their familiarity washing over him. Shōyō knows that Yukigaoka is basically the definition of a small neighborhood where everybody knows everything about everybody. Sometimes he feels content in that security - the safety of knowing and expecting. Other times though, it feels almost stifling. What does the world outside this singularity, his bubble, look like? What type of people lie beyond his everyday routine? The curiosity boils over.

He wants to know.

The morning rays shined down, weaving its light between the fractals of cold that permeate every breath he absorbs into his lungs. His cheeks sting from the wind created by the speeds of his bike, slowly dulling into anesthesia. Approaching the minimal cement architecture of his junior high, his feet slow in their rotations, preparing for his body to dismount soundly. He clicks the lock in place and makes his way into the artificially, yet still cosily heated building.

Walking into the classroom, he prepares for a day of studying. He’s got the academic scholarship to Shiratorizawa, sure, but he needs to keep it too. A lack of natural academic ability means that he has to work twice as hard. Shōyō wrestles between nervousness and excitement most days, now, though. The guidance counselor had assured him that once he’d established a routine, he would acclimate well enough but there’s still a section of his brain determined to fight it.

(He pointedly does not think about the volleyball team at the school)

Time ticks by as he shifts through a multitude of notes and textbooks at his desk. 3:15PM arrives in a blur and his brain feels like it’s expanded and been wrung out in successive order. Regardless of his productivity, this should be enough for today right? Resting is just as important as studying and thus, a perfect justification for why he's cutting his studying short today.

And if the Junior High Athletics Meet happens to be today, too? Then that's just a happy coincidence.

* * *

He walks into the tournament stadium and it still feels like the first time. It’s huge and bright and the best place on earth.

Convincing himself that this is useful for any future applied mechanics classes, he sits down in the back row of the audience and takes out a notepad with a pen. Projectile motion questions are tricky, after all, and it should make up a large part of his syllabus next year.

He sits down in the back row of the audience and takes out a notepad with a pen. The first match starts with a serve by the setter of Kitagawa Daiichi and – whoooshhhh.

That was so cool!

* * *

When Shōyō leaves, his notebook has exactly one physics-syllabus relevant free body diagram and five pages of drawings and notes about volleyball techniques.

* * *

The night air settled suffocatingly in Tobio's throat.

No one hit his toss.

A vocal bubble rises up to his throat, squeezing and demanding exit. This was annoying and his teammates were useless. Why couldn’t he just play volleyball alone? It would be so much better that way.

The bubble bursts into a yell and Tobio slams the ball in his hand to the ground. It bounces back up and down towards the sunset, slowly losing its kinetic energy into the atmosphere, to a shuddering roll down the pavement. Picking the ball up, he looks around, finding no one and sighs with no small amount of relief. From a third person perspective, that wasn’t exactly dignified.

Then he stares down the net, he hadn’t known there was a court in this park. _Nishigaoka Park_ the sign had declared as he stomped passed it after the dreadful match today. The latticed rope hangs loosely between the two poles, lines fraying or broken. It's a well used net, one that's been standing here for a good amount of years. To him though, it's a mocking barrier that feels higher, more insurmountable than it's appearance suggests.

His chest begins to tighten and his face contorts into anger. Why is he the one suffering when they were the ones in the wrong? This made no sense. The tyrannical king that stands alone on the court? How had that even happened?

Setting the ball up, he prepares for the toss (the one that no one comes to get) and watches as the small swirl of colors, muted in the darkness, shoots up and up. Leaves rustle in the lonely night.

He expects it to fall along with his heart.

It doesn’t.

It slams diagonally into the other side of the court; fast as a pistol. A blur of black is now at his side and for a second he feels so elated that he can’t breathe.

“That was a great toss Number 2-san!” said a voice happy enough to put shōnen protagonists to shame. “But serves like that suit me 'cause they go all _pwaah_ in my palm!”

Kageyama stares. At the ball and at the shadows surrounding the happiness incarnate. It did not help that his face was obstructed by a hoodie.

“Who?” he manages to get out

“Ah! I watched all the matches today!” this dude’s voice has to be permanently caps-locked or something “You’re super talented!”

A pause. His brain scrambles to make sense of the situation. Then, his palms begin to heat and itch-

“What? Why does this matter to you?” He spits out rudely, before regretting it a little. The little blob deflates for God’s sake, how does one not feel guilty at that.

There’s a moment of silence. Crickets chirp. Time moves on. Tobio still feels awkward.

“Life has a lot of opportunities to reinvent yourself you know? Senior high is one of them, I think.” he says with a tone of almost melancholy. “I don’t know where I’m going at all. I don’t know what I’m good at. I love volleyball-- like you! But even if that makes me happy, what if it blocks the way to my future and the people around me are hurt by my selfishness?” The blob expands a little.

“Where is this going exactly?” Tobio tentatively asks, toning down the vitriol of his previous tone. His rudeness wasn’t exactly warranted, after all.

He breathes out, shrinking, “I’m not like you, Number 2-san. I’m not so gifted and I haven’t even competed a single time in my life. I want to play, but I don’t know if I can without risking too much. Volleyball obviously makes you happy and you have the ability to go along with it!” his voice picks itself up with each step forwards. Excitement seeping into his voice with every word he says. Tobio doesn't understand what he did to earn such a personal tidbit from a stranger's life.

“So, I guess I just want to say that I think you’ll learn how to shine really brightly for sure! Don't give up!” The most teeth he’d ever seen is flashed towards him, the face is still obscured by the shadow of his hood. “I think a team that you can share all of those memories and emotions with, is the happiest thing in the world. You'll find that one day! Just take today as a setback, ne?” 

He doesn’t know what to say and it’s not even out of his social inability this time. Well maybe a little? He didn't think most people would be comfortable with sharing so much of themselves just to encourage a stranger. So Tobio is, naturally, a bit stumped on how to respond. But still.

His heart continues its steady thump thump thump in his chest. The crickets continue to sing. Tobio still has the rest of his life in front of him and that feels important somehow.

"Ah. T-thanks."

* * *

While walking away, Shōyō suddenly realizes exactly what he’s done and his face flares up.

“Where were you just now?” he mutters to his brain. What a hypocrite. He’s been practicing with an obsessive quality - to the extent where he isn't willing to admit how much - for the greater portion of his life and wasn’t even brave enough to apply to a school with a team (until now, but what does it even matter at this point). He’s nobody to be giving advice like that.

Also holy crap that was probably the most awkward conversation he's ever initiated, in his life.

That Number 2 plays for Kitagawa Daiichi and did you see his tosses, his spikes, his serves? He’s an all-rounder with actual experience, the perfect genetic predisposition and work-ethic. He's miles ahead of Shōyō and the comparison he made was stupid.

Ahhhh. That was too awkward. Definitely not a normal conversation. Why did he go monologue at somebody clearly on a different level- no a different dimension than him?

Hopefully his more personal than he'd intended speech had at least cheered that guy up a bit? 

His back slouches, hand raising up to push back the hood of his sweater and twist through his hair.

Shōyō bemoans his idiocy until he gets home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you thought? If you'd like?
> 
> Leave a kudos? Maybe?


	2. Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, this chapter is really just meant to establish a sense of Hinata's past and give a peek into how he thinks.

He pauses for a breath before the intimidating building. Shiratorizawa is huge. The glow of the morning sun, deceivingly soft, encompasses its walls, reaching towards the shadow of its own light. Everything seems larger than life; from the way the infrastructure looms over him, to the multitudes of students promoting their clubs. Jesus, the students of this school could probably populate a small town, easy.

Taking out the printout of the schedule that came into his inbox around a week ago, Hinata walks into the building. 1A-9. So, it’s on the first floor, most likely, so around here- aaaand… yep! Right next to the staircase. 

A small level of satisfaction ripples through his veins, watching a group of students search to the end of the hall for 1A-2. It’s the tiniest victory, but living so far away needs those few seconds of advantage. Or so he tries to tell himself. 

Around a third of the class are already here, talking amongst themselves in excited introductory tones. He takes a seat in the front row, close to the middle. He focuses better when he’s in front.

“Hey! Your hair is really cool which means I haven’t seen you around before! Which junior high are you from? What’s your name? My name is Nanase Ayaka” a girl lets out all in one breath, standing in front of his desk.

Shōyō responds with equal enthusiasm. “Hiya! My name is Hinata Shōyō and I went to Yukigaoka Junior High but I wanted to be in Sendai for high school! Nice to meet you!” He stands up with his hand out and realizes that he has to glance up to meet her eye level. Crap. The world is still taller than him and he _feels_ the comment before it even-

“Did you graduate junior high early? Or are you just – ahem… vertically challenged?” comes a voice that moves from behind him.

Yep.

“You know dying hair is against the rules, right?” comes another 

“I had no part in either of those things!” his voice comes out poutier than he intended “Ugh, it not like I _chose_ to be short or ginger! Blame my mother’s X-chromosome!”

Everyone laughs.

* * *

Lunch period came through faster than he expected. At least he’s gotten a good idea of what the syllabi for some of his classes look like – especially for physics. Familiarizing himself with them and trying to work ahead is the name of the game, for now. 

“Shōyō-kun! Wanna eat lunch with us?”

“Eh? Oh! Sorry Ayaka-chan, maybe tomorrow? I was thinking about looking at some of the clubs…” and calling the doctor’s office to set up Natsu’s yearly general health check-up. 

“Ooh, that’ll be fun! You brought your own food too, right? We might see you there once we’re done eating” she grins and turns around, humming a tune about food that he heard at the supermarket entrance last Saturday. Some of his other classmates falling into step beside her as they leaving their ‘see you’s’ as they walk through the door. 

Shōyō sighs softly, taking his phone and lunchbox while his feet carry him outside, kicking a rock a few times to path some of the way. He takes note of the sheer number of benches on the campus and walks through the chaos, his body gravitating towards a long bench under a tree. Close to where the ~~volleyball~~ sport clubs are promoting. 

The shade of the tree looks nice, Shōyō thinks, sitting down to eat. With a mumbled “thank you for the food”, he digs in. This is one of his better performances as far as cooking goes; he hopes Natsu will like it too. He found the recipe on a Korean food blog and he thinks he’s nailed it for a first try. He wonders if their mom found the time to eat it.

“Hello, my name is Kai Akakura, are you tabling for the volleyball club?” a voice behind him introduces themselves.

Shōyō slows down, his spoon staying in his mouth a second longer before he starts to chew.  
The spice is a little intense, after all. Thankfully he included the gochujang separately. 

“Yep. Thinking of trying out?”

What was his first impression of the rice, again? The flavor’s fading a little bit, now. Huh.

“I would like to. I played all through junior high”

Ooh, a puddle. Shōyō thinks, looking anywhere but to his right. It must have rained last night.

“So, you have some experience then. That’s just as well; everyone in our team is a bit more dedicated than the average high school player, after all. The fact that you stuck with it up till now is a good sign.”

Light refraction is certainly an interesting phenomenon, the idea that tangible objects can change and redirect some as abstruse as light.

“Ah is that so.”

Hey, even electromagnetic waves experience the same. The fact that the phone in my hand can even-

“Tryouts are after school today.”

“Alright, thank you”

His hands start to twitch without his permission and his heart does an admirable impression of a heavy metal drum solo. 

(Tryouts today tryouts today tryouts today)

“See ya, Kai-kun! It’s in the gym on the east side of campus!”

Shōyō spends some time staring at his food before he starts eating again. His neuron overdriven brain disagrees with his physical normalcy. He wonders what his heart would sound like through a stethoscope right now. 

Wait. 

Stethoscope. Doctor. Appointment.

Oof, he can’t believe he nearly forgot. He pulls out his phone and dials the number he memorized that morning. 

“Hello! You have reached the reception of Sendai Pediatrics. How may I help you today?”

He takes a deep, steadying breath. This is important. His sister’s health is important.

“Hello! I’m calling to set up Hinata Natsu’s general health appointment…”

He can still feel his heart palpitations pound through his head.

* * *

Walking into the classroom 14 minutes before his first after-lunch period starts greets him with the sight of the guy who commented on his hair color that morning. 

“Hinata-kun right? I don’t think I introduced myself in the morning” he grins sheepishly “I’m Ito Kotaru. Sorry about questioning your hair, you probably get that enough as is…” His voice descends to a mumble, ducking down into an embarrassed head bow.

“It’s no problem, Ito-kun I’m used to it!” Shōyō grins, he seems like a genuinely sweet if awkward guy “What are you doing back so early?”

“Aah, well. I’m kinda scared of being late to class, you know?” scratching lightly at his temple “Actually, more like, I’m scared of adults?”

Hinata blinks. A teenager in the prime likelihood of a rebellion. Afraid of adults.

“Hey! Hinata-kun?!? Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just thought that you’re a pretty caring person” the hair remark made sense now “If you didn’t want to be late, you probably ate really fast huh? Do you want the rest of my lunch? I made a lot but lost my appetite halfway through my food, for some reason.” Well, a-reason-that-must-not-be-named, at least.

Ito’s eyes widen a little bit, he looks so touched that Shōyō is taken aback for a second. “Eh? Really? Thank you Hinata-kun”

“Ah, you don’t need to use honorifics. We’re in the same class, Ito.”

Ito bites into the food and his mouth falls open. 

“This is amazing Hinata! I’ve never had anything like it! Where did you learn to cook?”

“Shōyō-kun cooks?” Ayaka’s lively voice calls from the door “let me try, let me try!” she skips to her bag and produces a spoon “Please?”

Shōyō laughs “Go ahead. It was my first time trying to make Korean cuisine though”

“This really is the best, thank you!” she exclaims, biting into the meat.

After the food is finished there’s a short, surprisingly not as awkward as it should be pause.

4 minutes until class. The teacher should arrive at any moment.

“Are you guys thinking of trying out for the volleyball squad?”

Aaanndd there goes his overworked heart. His poor body might be reaching its limit for blood pressure spikes for the day. 

“What do you mean, Ayaka-chan” asks Ito

“Apparently the boys’ team is the pride and joy of the school. They have an intense season prep, though, so they hold tryouts on the first day of school” The two look at each other, completely unaware of Shōyō's meltdown

“I don’t have a single athletic bone in my body, though” Ito chuckles “How about you Hinata? Do you like volleyball?”

Does he _like_ volleyball- oh man what a question. He freaking lo--- no we are not going down that train of thought. This isn’t good for his health.  
Distraction, I need a distraction, he thinks as his eyes do acrobatics searching for a target.

“Good afternoon, ma’am!” his upper body practically catapulting into a bow

“Good afternoon, ma’am” two voices chorus a second later

“Wow, what enthusiasm…” the teacher takes a step back.

The conversation is dropped and the topic laid to rest for the second time that day. Unfortunately, though, his body doesn’t seem to understand that.

* * *

After school, his feet start walking to the east side of campus. 

“See you, Hinata!" and “Bye bye Shōyō-kun” echoing after him

He waves as his traitorous body goes somewhere he doesn’t want to contemplate. 

Vending machine. Yeah, that’s what he’s looking for. Vending machines are always around gyms, right?

He walks for a bit and, yep, he was right. The box full of drinks stands adjacent to the entrance of the gym. 

There are some open windows near the door and once he gets close enough to hear the squeaks of sneakers on a polished wooden floor and smell the humid and faintly earthy smell of physical exertion, he nearly trips.

Collapsing against the wall underneath the windows, he allows himself to feel some sort of sad. The kind that tends to dim the brightness inherent to hope.

But what can he do? Is there a future in volleyball? Can he support his mother and sister with it? 

His life seems to start with the first jump he makes on the court and ends when the high of that feeling dissolves. Living as a part of something, a future where he flies, the thrill of trusting people with his entire being. 

_Laughter. The feel of playground sand under his feet as he jumps higher and higher._

_Sets of eyes watching him as the air makes way. A thrillingly perfect set and an impossibly high wall of hands in front of him._

Hinata gasps shallowly. He hasn’t thought about those memories in a hot minute. It starts to fill him up with some sorts of maybe’s and he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

But then he remembers something else. He remembers his mother crying, soft but desperate sobs wracking through her body as she sits in front of a table full of numbers and papers that come in the mail almost every day. He remembers her soothing him to sleep, despite her defeated eyes and shallow breath; “Shō-kun” she whispers, her voice a secret meant only for two “You and Natsu, must live happily.” Her hand would gently smooth his hair back slowly “Everything I do, is for you to be happy. So please be happy, and make your sister happy too. I love you.” His mother used to say, like a prayer; after she thinks he’s fallen into the slumber woven by his resting mind. 

He wants that burden; he had realized after the first time he feinted sleep and heard those words. He wants that happiness for his mother too. His kind and beautiful and breathtakingly strong mother who bore everything alone and made time for even more. He needs her to know how utterly beyond perfect she is. How much grattude and love he wishes he could give to her in physical form.

And so, he pretends. He pretends that his kneepads aren’t in his bag because he knew that tryouts were today, he pretends that he wore sports clothes only because they’re comfortable, he pretends that the volleyball shoes he put on today are just a coincidence. 

Oh. The sun is already setting and he sees the backs of the boys who tried out today. 

I guess the decision was made for him. He should start heading—

_BANG_

“Ah shit. Didn’t mean to slam it open like that” he head whips to the side and he sees red spikes. Wow, and his hair is supposed to be unique?

He realizes he’s staring and volcano-eruption hair guy is staring back. He feels his face shoot up in temperature.

“Um… I’m sorry?” he half-mumbles and half-squeaks, quickly averting his gaze down to his shoes. His vocal chords have apparently decided to declare their independence and the stare burns holes in his head for another few heartbeats. The calm before a storm, a passing thought helpfully provides.

“Well, well~ What do we have here? Are those volleyball shoes, I see? Will the great Tendō Satori become your senpai soon?” Volcano man- no Satori's eyes seem to sparkle with all the joy of an extrovert meeting someone new but laced with a vaguely unsettling expression that feels like a test. His expression is more declarative than his voice and Shōyō wonders if he's ever managed to look so friendly in his entire life. It's an enthusiasm that Shōyō's emotional state tries valiantly to match for about a second before giving up. Depressive thoughts tend to seep into his disposition for a few minutes even after they're over.

Shōyō wills his vocal chords to cooperate with his brain back into a unified state “Ah- uh—nice to meet you, Satori-senpai? I’m Hinata Shōyō”

Failure. His genetics decided short wasn’t enough of a disadvantage so a disaster of a pharynx was a part of the deal, too.

“Senpai?” he paused, face contorting into a strange sort of disbelief at his response. Had he done something wrong?

"Oh crap!" Shōyō really wants to stab his voice box right about now, swearing, really? "Tendō-senpai? Is that better because-"

"Satori's fine.” his eyes glint with mischief. This can't be good. "Aren't you coming in for a tryout?"

What? No! 

The fear must have registered on his face because next he gets shrinking pupils and a mean-spiritedly enthusiastic “Yes! You heard that right! We will make some time for you to try out for our wonderful team!” It's so unfortunately decisive that Hinata feels his resistance crumbling to ashes.

“Oh no!” his heart seems to leap in protest to his words “I wouldn’t want to impose, haven’t they finished already?” 

He lets out a triumphant sound, as if he's seen through Shōyō's excuses, as if he's _won_. Shōyō has never been so scared in his life. His expression shifts into something between a grin and a smirk. “Actually, little birdie, the last one is finishing up and tryouts ended an hour earlier than we expected, there were a few less candidates than last year” then as if suddenly struck by lightning, his wrist has been grabbed and Shōyō finds the particles that composite his existence migrated into the gym before his brain could process the series of events. 

“Hey guys! We have one more tryout here!” Satori oozes insistence into the echoing gym. He's met with stares of exasperation, apprehension and one of barely concealed, yet piercing enmity.

* * *

_This. This isn't good._ Is the primary though that dominates coach Akira’s head.

He looks nervously towards his fellow coach and colleague, the one that sits stonily besides him. Watching the new presence carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love love the fact that Satori almost instantly develops a soft spot for Hinata in canon. So I decided, why change that here? 
> 
> Next Chapter will be up sometime in the next 48 hours!


	3. Faced with a wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. I'm overdue my own deadline. Some stuff happened this week and I couldn't flesh it out and post it, so I'm really really sorry! I'll be way more active from now on!

Brown eyes. Are the first thing he notices. Determined eyes so reminiscent of his own a thousand years ago, glinting with love and shining with insecurity. ~~I wanted to succeed I wanted to succeed~~ His height and frame insistently hollering their disadvantage as his eyes argued, unyielding to the weight of the world. Those eyes transport him back to the singular instance of shattered hope, collapsing at the inevitability and suddenly he can feel - once more - tears scratching their paths down his cheeks. The smell of sweat amplified by heartbreak and the loss of time, his tongue covered in the eternal taste of salt. Looking at _his_ eyes opened a dam that let excruciating anger cascade through his veins.

Success and failure are crossroads. He wants neither for him. He wants both. He doesn’t know.

“What’s your name?” His eyes bore into the figure presented to him. He feels like he can see every pore, every patch of skin and moisture that constitutes this person; sight sharpening into focus despite decades of deterioration.

“Hinata Shōyō, sir” the tiny frame (so so tiny, he doesn’t think even _he, himself_ was that small, was he?) bows.

“How tall are you?”

“162” he stutters, then, as if resolving an inner conflict “point eight centimeters”

The memory of satisfaction overwhelms him for a second. _Ha!_ the 15 year old Washijō in his brain caws gloatingly _2.3 centimeters shorter than me!_

Tanji's rage begins to build and he needs an outlet “I see, and you’re here to try out?”

“Uhm-” his eyes glaze over and it instantly looks like he’s going to bolt before Satori nudges him - the cruel, cruel child that had to have seen the hesitation practically oozing from this one - and they revert as quickly as the change came “Yes,” his body shifts slowly to face the team and himself, “sir” is tacked on, voiced at an astonishingly high pitch.

“Well.” He probably should be reigning in his overflowing emotions before he says any more “your height, or actually, lack thereof poses an issue as you probably know” he eyes the kid critically and he wants (cruelly wants and wants) to nip this in the bud.

There is a tense silence following his words, all eyes are on him - especially that frighteningly desperate pair that glints with resolve.

"What experience do you have on a team" None. Tanji knows what the answer is before he even asked the question. He makes it a point to know every single player that has played in middle school.

"Officially, nothing. Sir." he says, but his eyes begin to burn bright. As if daring Tanji to test and push and break.

“Satori. Ushijima” that’s overkill but _necessary_ , it won’t be a proper lesson otherwise (or maybe it’s the heavy feeling in his lungs that seeks catharsis, that squirms and threatens to rip his body apart) “2V1. 15 points. 3 contacts. On the court.” He feels and hears, rather than sees everyone take a breath. He turns to the kid “You win, you’re on the team.” No one moves.

(the feeling gets heavier)

“Now!”

* * *

It’s obvious to the whole team that this makes no sense. The way the two called out walk on to the court deliberately almost mechanically, shows that they think so too. It’s no secret that Ushijima is the strongest player on the team, in the region, and is up there nationally. Pitting a first-year tryout, with no resume to speak of – and that’s without mentioning the clear physical disadvantage – against that feels like a kick to the stomach.

Akira thinks that in all his years of co-coaching at Washijō’s side, this level of animosity – even cruelty – may be the first he’s been witness to.

The tryout – Hinata – he corrects himself, takes off his zip up sweater and puts on his kneepads faster than he’s ever seen anyone do, nearly sprinting to the middle of his side of the court and practically shivering on the spot as he does some preliminary stretches. It’s kind of endearing how visibly afraid he seems to be.

It'll be in Hinata's favour that both Ushijima and Satori had already been playing for the last four hours and a half. Hopefully, they’ll play with a hefty amount of mercy to top it off.

“Don’t you dare go easy” his co-coach barks. "No matter how weak the opponent, not a single millimeter of leeway is to be given."

Or maybe not.

Satori is fiddling with the ball, tossing it in between his hands, looking conflicted. But the whistle blows and he serves. The ball slams to the other side of the court with the alarming speed expected of him. Service ace. Hinata’s eyes widen, knees bent and utterly still. Everyone flinches. 

He looks to the side at his co-coach, hoping for something, he’s not sure what; some level of guilt? A change of the terms? Nothing.

Ushijima serves next. Hinata moves this time, lunging quickly at the trajectory of the ball. The ball is faster. Open grimaces adorn almost every face in the gym.

It feels doomed as the service rotation goes back to Satori. This repeats again a few times.

6-0.

He doesn’t know what to do. He feels like he should be stepping up, saying something, _stopping this_ but Coach Washijō’s explosive fury seems like an insurmountable wall. He starts to shiver and his throat begins to close up, he feels useless as a hapless young student (only a first year, practically a baby) gets destroyed.

But then.

But then. Hinata makes contact. The ball goes out of bounds (barely though, less than 5 centimeters away from the line, barely) but Hinata unmistakably _makes contact_. Good contact. Some sort of shock settles across the room. He had almost received Ushijima’s jump serve.

* * *

After the first serve, Shōyō knows he’s lost. They clearly outclass him and he’s not equipped to fight against that.

He feels the impact slam into his stomach as he dives for yet another ball that he fails to receive. His heart hammers in his chest. a 15-null victory would be painful and would hurt him irreparably. No matter how outmatched, getting absolutely no points is _rare_ in volleyball. It's a fast-paced sport where even those playing at the highest level make mistakes - a millimeter out of bounds, a single degree off of a set, a finger out of place for a spike.

In the end, volleyball was a sport where, ultimately, only one person sent one ball over to the other side.

Zero points has always been the safety net. At the very least, no matter how inexperienced, no matter how strong the opponent, zero points felt out of reach. 

Now though? Now it was looking like reality and as Shōyō's skin burned from dragging, screeching against the wooden floor as his body scrambled for purchase, he feels his worldview change. 

He has nothing to lose here. Zero points is expected, even guaranteed here. The ultimate, impossible defeat in this sport that he's cried and sweat for stares him in the face.

 _I'm going to get clapped,_ the thought runs through his head, unbidden.

Shōyō chuckles, then pauses, some tension leaking out of his body. He realizes that this isn't actually all _that_ different than any odds he's faced so far anyway. Accepting defeat but still trying his best has kind of been the name of the game all his life when it comes to things he loves. _Yeah_ , he thinks, _it doesn't have to be that serious._

His goal should be to receive a ball. Induce a mistake.

Anything.

And well... if that's it then, he can deal with anything.

He's not giving this shit up. Even if it's helpless. Even if he knows that they’ll win and the chance of him staying on the court is impossible.

He's lived wishing for an opportunity to play like this for so long. Play against people who cared as much as he did, play against people who were way stronger than he was or would ever be.

This is an opportunity.

He can do- _anything._

Fuck losing.

Who the fuck will ever look at this game and judge him for that anyway? He finally gets to _play_.

So he moves. He wills his body to move faster and faster. He will receive a ball, at least once. Even without a team or the friendly smiles of the mother’s club that he played in. He needs to know that the decade that he spent – God, more than two-thirds his entire life he spent – on this wonderful, terrible sport, means something. His lungs fill with the air of the gym, his veins run to the gravitational pull of the ball. He needs this more than life. Even if will lose.

(His volleyball wasn’t defined by that, anyway)

He makes contact for the first time and it feels like his heart has opened up. That vital, raw tingle on his forearms are what breathes oxygen into his veins, veins that run with blood and potential.

This is a once in a lifetime experience, after all. He will never be as directly outclassed than he is today.

The next time, he sends it back before it rushes past him in a bullet-like spike. He sees the eyes of his opponents; he feels like the ball is a conversation. So, he tries his best, he will receive the next spike. His body will tear itself apart reaching for the ball, how could it not? He receives, then sets and tries to spike from wherever his uncontrollably awful set leads him.

Satori's block is a little bit late, and so the setter tosses the ball from an odd angle. The subsequent spike by the Shiratorizawa captain is powerful, but off. Shōyō watches intently as the ball slams back onto the floor, outside of the line. 

He's got a point. 

Granted, he didn't spike it but- he caused the mistake that led to the point. The skin around his hairline stretches in his elation.

Who the fuck cares because Hinata fucking Shōyō got a fucking point. 

The following rallies take longer and longer and suddenly, it hits him and he truly realizes that he’s on a court. This is his last game and he feels like his soul came pouring out to see off his dream. 

He got to _play,_ to really play volleyball for the first time in his life and tears prick at his eyes as his body perspired endlessly.

The world comes to life, full of color and focus and the frames surrounding these minutes are ones that Shōyō feels so deep in his bones. This is what will kill him.

He loves it so much his cheeks hurt.

His next set goes backwards and high, high, high – not where he was aiming for but that’s just his ability – and he runs with an absolute certainty that he can hit it. After all, where the ball goes, he goes. What does his height mean? what is any of that stuff supposed to mean?

When he can fly.

His hand prickles as it gets closer and he feels his lips stretch even further. In the world, nothing exists anymore. Only him, the ball and the court.

And his ball lands on the other side of the court, just inside the line, and you know what?

He will hold. They’ll win, yeah. But he won’t make it easy.

He’ll make them sweat for it.

He’ll stay on the court. As long as he can.

It's his first and final game and nothing can take that away from him.

* * *

 _Bang._ And Tanji's brain halts.

10-1. The “1” looks like a dream. It can’t be possible. How can this possibly be real?

However, worse was yet to come because after that, it feels like the kid found his footing, despite the pair standing being small, so so small. He scores more and more. And with every landing, louder than a plane crash, on his side of the court, he feels more and more like a civil war. A small voice, one he’d ignored and never entertained in the slightest (because it was _hard_ , after what was done to him it was unbearably _hard_ ) rose to volumes it has never done before. _This is your chance!_ it yells desperately at him _Show them the mistake they made! Let a dream come true! What worth was your suffering if you don’t?_. Yet with every increase in persuasion of this cry, his rage grows deeper as well. _But how about you? How about you?_ comes the temptation he’s been giving into for a millennia, now. His head and heart accommodate this pain for the next eternity before stopping as his eyes process the sight before him.

That little figure goes higher than seems possible, he reaches beyond a tall wall to see the sight on the other side of the court. That sun rises as if saying _Fight-or-flight? Why can’t it be both?_

6-13.

Then after 12 more arduous minutes, it ends.

* * *

Ushijima knows he’s a _good_ player, even a fantastic player. He’s cultivated his limitless natural talent with the zeal and that has got him to the top. He knows he will win, every time it happens.

Then why doesn’t this feel like a victory? Why doesn’t he feel better than he should right now? Why is his chest heaving? Why have his knees given out?

A 10-15 victory. In a 15 point game that was supposed to last half an hour less than it did. He knows that there are a lot of factors that came into it. For example, the fact that he’d been playing for nearly five hours straight before this match, the sets by his opponent were unpredictable because he sucked and that worked in his favor among others. But regardless, it should have been an easier victory, he outclasses his opponent so thoroughly. There is only one kind of strength, after all.

He is objectively the stronger one.

So how?

He distantly hears the door slam shut and sees an empty spot where Coach Tanji sat. There’s a silence and Satori stands up, walking under the net.

In the end, he can't accept it. Today was a fluke. He obviously has been slacking in the stamina department.

* * *

“You’re scary, Shō-kun.” Satori hears his own voice say, distant to the enhanced bloodflow ringing in his ears, stretching out an unbelievably soaked palm to the tryout star-fished on the ground. "Welcome to the team."

He grins a little at the slamming door. He couldn't help but go easy. Trying too hard means he wouldn't have gotten to see the expression on coach Tanji's face when he'd have to accept defeat againt someone like Shōyō.

After a beat, the brown eyes crinkle charmingly before his entire body bursts out in laughter that was tinged with the smallest amount of sadness. A tiny, shaking hand reaching back out to his. Not a response he was expecting, but before he could ask, “I lost, Satori-senpai. So I don’t think I made the requirement to get on the team.”

Satori almost corrected him because, obviously, that was an intimidatingly-phrased test by the coach. But... it'd be more entertaining if it ran the natural course.

“I’m so happy, though. That was such an amazing game!” and Shō had, within the next moment, pulled himself up to _vibrate_ in excitement. That surprised him a little, where did that energy come from? He could barely make the six steps across the court. “It was like _gwah_ and your serves were like _bam_ and you’re so tall that is so cool! My heart was like shaking because of how amazing you were!” it was like a grenade of energy was pulled inside him “I swear it’s like you were reading my mind, every place I wanted to spike you were, like, already there, Satori-senpai you’re the best!” That reminded him—

“Shō-kun, if that’s true then why did you hit to such unconventional places? I feel like I could never guess even remotely where you were going to be.” The standard tells weren't really effective in anticipating offensive maneuvers and Satori wants to hear his theory validated out loud.

At Satori's words, cheeks flushed to a shade close to the damp red orange hair, mumbling something while looking down. “What was that?”

Taking a deep breath word vomit spills louder from shining pink lips “It’s because I suck at setting... and receiving” he verbalises indignantly at his shoes.

Which, Satori presumed was the reason but hearing it so frankly...

In the next second he's laughing so hard moisture gathers at the ends of his eyes. He also hears some light chuckles from the rest of the team in the background who seem to agree.

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard in my life” He wheezes out between breaths. Dear lord, this kid was going to be a setter’s wet dream.

“C’mon, kiddo,” his says more fondly than estimated. “Cooldown stretches and we go home, alright?” 

This would be an interesting year for volleyball. He can't wait to see the chaos unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pinky promise I'll upload the next by tomorrow. Also, as a note. I will never abandon this fic without telling you guys about it. Updates may be slow 'cause you never know what life will bring, but I will aspire to not take longer than two weeks to update and I tend to read over previous chapters as I'm writing a new one so there may be changes to previous chapters before or with a new one. 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated! (But please be nice about it because my self-esteem isn't the greatest?)


	4. Testing, waiting, mounting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use the word "scrim" a lot in this chapter and its short for "scrimmage" which refers to a practice match. In the serious athletic clubs that I've been in, we called them that so I just used it here. Sorry if this is troublesome for anyone!

When Hinata walked into the classroom the next morning, the aura around him had shifted into something more settled, almost content, yet entwined in some sort of melancholic regret that indicated something had happened to cause the change. Although his sunny disposition and optimism had still remained the same.

He had entered the classroom with an upbeat “Good morning Ito! Ayaka-chan!” to which two voices echoed greetings. They were happy to approach him, voices carrying the excited tones characteristic of an introductory conversation that followed a new day. A breeze wafted through the open windows, bringing with it the smell of springtime as the soft morning sun shined, illuminating the room and giving the starting light. Shōyō always liked the second day of a new school year more than the first. Something about the energy of it just made him happy.

The day dragged on and rushed forward at the same time, as most schooldays tend to do. The anticipation of the weekend hadn’t fully settled yet given that it was a Tuesday, but the seeds of it were being sown, in the friendships that were forming.

Lunch time came and went and students settled in for a period without a teacher at the board. The class was, as study periods go universally, divided into varying levels of focus. Shōyō was at his desk, outlining the study points in the syllabus he was given as Ito multitasked helping him and holding a discussion with Ayaka, both of them having dragged their chairs to surround his table. The sounds of his friends’ voices. softly yet resolutely deliberating what constitutes a good grade, washing over him as his pen scratches words into his notebook.

“Good afternoon! Is Shō-kun in this class?” Satori declared more than asked, head leaning through the door as eyes surveyed the room before landing on the orange mop. The general consensus among the gazes that fixed back on him seemed to curiously ask why a third-year would be here in their class when a week hasn’t even passed before school started. Some shifted back and forth to the classmate that was called, intimidated. Shōyō jumped to his feet, quickly delivering a bow in surprise as the lull of his task was broken. “Ah, um. Do you need something Satori-senpai? Should I come outside?” he laughed sheepishly, right hand tugging at his left sleeve.

“No need, I can say it here!” Satori said, grinning widely before his sonority amped up “Congrats! You’re on the team! Practice today right after school, see ya there!” The red spikes of his hair don’t even shift as he taps his palm against the door frame once before walking away.

Shōyō's first thought was an eloquent ‘Buh?’, and his second was a dazed ‘I don’t understand’. Collapsing back into his seat, he didn’t even have time to brace himself as the entire class huddled around him in a great impression of a waddle of penguins seeking warmth. Around twelve voices spoke at once, all of them variations of “Good job, Shōyō! That’s pretty cool!”, “What team? The volleyball team?” and “Did you play in Junior high?” In response to the barrage, outwardly, he just smiled, explained that he tried out yesterday and no he hasn’t played for a team before. Inwardly, consistent thoughts had stopped forming in his head, leaving him baffled even as a warm fire spread through his body, all the way to his fingertips.

The rest of the day flew by quickly and he found himself, again, walking towards the gym after saying goodbye to his two classmates that were quickly becoming friends.

On his way, Satori sees and catches up to Shō with a dragged out “Heyy" and once they're side to side, follows it up with a "what up Shō-kun?”

To which Shōyō's inner five-page monologue – the one he’s been mentally preparing for the last three hours – comes out as “Sato— How? Why? Wha?” and Satori is filled with the particular type of good humor and an embarrassing urge to coo that he’s starting to associate with Hinata’s presence.

The familiar urge to push at a person's buttons are strangely subdued. Is it because Hinata's so emotive that just observing feels like it's enough?

“You cannot tell me that scoring points against two third years, including Wakatoshi Super-Ace Ushijima, doesn’t merit you a spot on our team.”

“But like, I thought I had to prove that— my height— your angry coach— ugh” Shōyō's arms flung to his sides as his brain and mouth wouldn’t cooperate. So far, unfortunately, every interaction he’s had with Satori-san seemed to coincide with emotionally-charged situations.

“You figured Coach Tanji’s not-so-hidden requirement would prevent you?” Satori sighs “Well, ordinarily, it probably would have to be honest." he admits.

"Since he’s made it no secret that he only wants physically-advantaged players on a roster to an extraordinarily biased extent. However, we’ve discussed this among the team a lot and rather than tall players, I’m pretty sure that a lot of it is more that he wants strong players. I mean, I think the height part is personal – not super sure how or why that it is – but he really just wants to make a superteam. That’s the goal. You’re shorter than everyone in competition right now, for sure.” Then he thinks of that kid… Ah, silver hair and eyeliner; Satori forgot his name but he’s still 100% sure that they're taller than Shō, even if by a practically negligible centimeter. He shrugs “If you ask me, though, I think your sheer athletic ability on its own is worth it.”

Shōyō looks down at his feet, hands twitching, eyes conflicted and a rising flush on his face. “Thank you, Satori-senpai” and they walk for another few steps into the gym.

In the changing room, they take off their school uniforms and get into physical exertion appropriate attire, before going out the door where they run into Ushijima.

Satori greets him with a drawn out “Yo~” while Shōyō almost reaches a pitch only dogs could hear before dropping into an acute-angled bow and scurrying off, obviously intimidated.

Ushijima stares after him.

“Shō-kun practically jumps at his shadow, ne?” Satori chuckles a bit “but he gets on the court and its gone apparently.”

Ushijima hums nonchalantly.

“What do you think?” Satori asks, knowing full well that it’s as good as a rhetorical question when it comes to Ushijima.

Ushijima tilts his head slightly.

“I think the most annoying part was that the ball _just would not hit the floor_ for the latter part of yesterday” he barrels on.

To which Ushijima does break, exhaling sharply yet quietly through his nose.

Yeah, their captain is taciturn on a good day. Starting to walk again Satori smiles widely, tossing an over-the-shoulder “See ya in a minute.”

Ushijima, ever immovable, does not say anything.

The gym is bright and airy, smelling slightly of a sharp chemical agent, remnants from a recent cleaning. Members of the club who’ve arrived are scattered around on the floor, stretching and conversing. The two coaches are in deep conversation on a bench along the side of the gym, the younger of the two standing as Coach Washijō sits. Ushijima is the last one to arrive and seeing him, the coaches call to gather.

“Good afternoon.” his gravelly voice says pointedly “We have three additional first years on our team to replace Tori, Hoshi and Yūshō, who, as the rest of you know, graduated last year. You may refer to me as Coach Tanji.” The rest of team doesn’t need prompting to say a “Welcome to the team” in unison. “As for positions. Kai; libero. Tsutomu;” he directs his eyes to the first year “outside hitter” a nod, “Hinata.” his eyes harden as they glint “Wing spiker.” The rest of the club hold their breaths. Shōyō bows curtly.

“6V6 practice today and for the rest of the week. We'll start drills next week. Team A: Satori, Wakatoshi, Reon, Kenjiro, Tsutomu and Hayato. Team B: Jin, Eita, Yunohama, Taichi, Kai and Hinata. Exchange two players every day but not the same pair. Get on the court.”

As they move, coach Akira looks hesitant “Isn’t that a little unfair?” he asks in a muted voice, trying to figure out what the purpose of this was, “Team A will be the regular starting lineup, no?” he breathes, gathering his courage, he doesn’t like to contest Tanji “Also, Hinata is a _good_ player, why assign him to a role where he probably won’t play at all this year? I don’t think you’ll ever sub out or need to sub out Ushijima for him, so isn’t that just personal?”

The coach only looks on, eyes boring into curling rays of orange.

The game starts and they play as expected for a while. Team B is obviously struggling, the ball hitting the floor on their side of the court more often than not for about an hour of practice before a short break.

Dusting off his knees, Akira uses the short break to get some water; he’s spent all of his time thinking about Hinata’s performance yesterday and he had yet to figure it out. Obviously, his co-coach has ideas and today’s practice is probably supposed to confirm or delve deeper into them.

He just doesn’t understand Tanji sometimes, close co-worker he may be.

When he comes back, the 15 minutes are up and the players take their positions again. There are significantly more sounds from the right side of the court, raucous laughter that he hasn’t heard right before a match on this court, ever. In fact, the whole gym feels louder, fuller. And when they start playing, it’s clear that something has changed. All of a sudden, it’s like every single player on team B have received some mythical power up. Plays that didn’t work before start working and he just doesn’t understand why. He looks closer. There has to be a reason. Goshiki’s spike to the other side of the net is closely received by Kai but it’s an awkward angle and doesn’t work with the formation they’ve ran into but then Hinata digs it towards the front so Taichi, as the middle blocker, can spike it into the wall of three in front of him and lose the point but- oh. What? Eita had shifted his stance and the ball dunks. Hinata yells a good job and the rest of the team follows.

Akira doesn’t think he’s ever seen a team set-up and aim for a setter’s dunk, it’s supposed to be an unexpected move so the split-second decision is left up to the setter, normally at least. How had they even planned it, the playstyles of each player are so unique, as well, which means that something like that shouldn’t be feasible.

“As I thought” Tanji sighed, surprising Akira out of his thoughts. “Have you figured it out yet Akira-kun?”

Akira could nearly hear the cogs whirring in his own brain and then as he sees Hinata appear, almost like magic, he muses, to receive a spike with his face in a place where nobody stood previously; he gets it.

“Yeah. The team didn’t develop months of synergy in 15 minutes like I had initially thought.” He lightly teased. What a scary kid “Since Hinata’s everything seems to focus around the ball, both teams treat the two synonymously, which means that team B is better able to focus on ‘where should the ball go?’ rather than ‘where is the ball?’ because Hinata’s got the latter covered and team A zeroes in _only_ on him, losing overall court awareness.”

Tanji pauses for a beat before tensely adding “That absolute trust in his teammates is his greatest strength.” His resignation seeps very clearly into his voice “During the break, he managed to lift the spirits of the bitter atmosphere in his team after being so thoroughly destroyed and keep them up lifted despite the losses in this practice. His technical abilities aren’t great which means he can’t carry a game like Ushijima can, but if the previous match would be compared to a supreme eagle against infant chicks, now it’s against ones that can, at the very least, fly.” Tanji’s hand twitches and he wants to run it along his face “He has to overcome some of his primary weaknesses first to be useful at all though. So, we’ll see if he falls flat.” Tanji stands up to feel the routine protest of his knees at the movement. He’s getting old. “Coach Akira. Move up our scrim against Kakugawa High to before the Interhigh Preliminaries.”

He takes a deep shaky breath as he waits for the point to finish before announcing “We'll cut it for today. Cooldown stretches and leave. Weekday practices are the same times and all day on Saturday. _Be present._ ” His heart feels like it’s suffocating and yet he still doesn’t know what his expectations should be for that kid. He's angry but doesn't feel like he's allowed to be.

“I’ll post the scrim schedule on the door by next week! The first one is in a month.” Akira’s voice follows him out the door.

* * *

When Shōyō arrives home, its dark and quiet. A blanket of silence has settled in his house and the lights are off indicating his younger sister’s state of consciousness at the moment. The familiar placements of the vaguely blurred furniture slowly come into focus as his eyes accustom themselves to the lack of lighting. The thin light of the moon and stars shine through the ajar living room window. They’ll have to keep it closed very soon as the insect population starts gaining activity with the rising temperatures. For now, though, everything is settled and Hinata inhales the atmosphere. Allowing himself to take in the hectic events of the day.

His socks make scarcely any noise as he shuffles into the kitchen. His mother isn’t home yet. He wanted to tell her about the volleyball team in person, but knows it was a long shot. So, ripping a page from his notepad he quickly writes down a summary and leaves it on the table he knows she will sit at for any number of reasons before going to bed.

Shōyō makes his way to check on Natsu, who's sleeping soundly aside from the occasional snuffle, and then to his room where he prepares to study until his body reaches a threshold of sleepy where he can barely function. A feeling in his gut says that that point will come faster than usual today so he should sit out a bit longer than what his biological timer indicates. Hinata concedes to his subconscious.

(Somehow, despite all that, this is the happiest Hinata’s felt in years)

* * *

Hinata Kotoe enters the threshold of her house so late into the night it could be closer to morning. Her limbs feel like they’re going to fall off and fatigue is written across her face, glowing a neon sign.

She sees an arrangement on the table. A letter lies on the flat surface, along with a warm duo of recently assembled onigiri which indicate that Shōyō most likely stayed up late studying again but prepared a thoughtful gesture for her regardless of his tiredness before going to sleep. Her heart burns with love for her children. She doesn’t deserve them.

 _They deserve better than you,_ comes a small voice from the back of her brain.

She reads the letter, carefully smoothing it in her hands and with each word her face loses a decade’s worth of aging and overwork; Shōyō is pursuing something meant for his happiness, and his happiness only for the first time in years. That has to be enough.

* * *

Time starts to blur with a new, stable routine. Shōyō still loves his mother and Natsu more than the world but now he can openly love volleyball too. A month passes quickly and he’s playing even more volleyball than before because scrims start and practice stretches longer and longer. Shōyō is happier and happier, as well as more and more comfortable with his team. A team. _His_ team. And doesn’t that thought fill his entire being to the brim with elation. It’s something he’s always dreamed of. He hasn’t been asked to play in any practice matches yet, because, duh, ace Ushijima, but he really doesn’t care too much. As long as he can play and win against those that look from the other side of the net, he’s happy. Except for during cleaning times, the court is open for practice between 7am to 10pm – when he tells Ayaka and Ito this fact, they seem flabbergasted at the volleyball obsession rampant amongst their high school – and Shōyō practices more than anyone, enabled by the resources he has now. He comes earlier than ever to school so he can practice until classes start; he plays volleyball with a desperation unparalleled, but yeah what’s new.

The routine breaks on a Saturday when his mother forgets her change of clothes at home and asks Hinata to drop them off at her workplace. Practice starts at 8am that day, though, which is earlier than normal because they have a scrim against a team from a high school in Tokyo. He’ll have to prepare a quick breakfast for Natsu and then bike down to the office as fast as he can if he wants to make it on time. Arriving a few minutes earlier than he thought he would, he fastens his bike, shrugs to sit his backpack more comfortably on his shoulders and walks towards the gym – before his feet stop after taking two and a half steps.

In front of him sits a hunched figure in a red sports jacket and volleyball shoes, muffled laser sounds emanating from his phone. He’s probably from the team they’re facing today- but, why was he here so early?

“Good Morning!” He grins, this guy looks cool as heck “My name’s Hinata Shōyō! What’s your name? What are you doing here so early? Also I couldn't help but notice you're shoes! Do you play volleyball, too? What position? What game is that?”

* * *

 _Victory!_ declares the ornamented writing on his phone screen. He glances up momentarily at the voice, _short_ his brain supplies, before clicking on the comp graphs and then checking champion stats because that last set was closer than he thought it would be.

Did they buff Xerath? “Kozume Kenma. My team went on a morning run and I got lost. Setter. TFT.” he lists before wondering why he was answering the guy at all. He didn’t care about people, especially strangers.

The voice exclaims joyfully in recognition, as if there was nothing more interesting in the world than the words that had just left Kenma’s mouth “What year are you?”

“Second” a quick google search shows that they hadn’t buffed Xerath but he probably should have waited for a belt to make a Morellonomicon instead of immediately combining for a Luden’s. That last battle was unnecessarily closer than what it should have been given that he had practically exodia items on an insanely broken comp.

“Crap! You’re older than me, I’m sorry!” his speech becomes more formal.

“It’s fine, I don’t like that status stuff in athletics” sorcerer-mystics will probably have good synergy this patch, too. Maybe he'll try that out next game.

There's a pensive silence from the guy. Maybe he's bored and will go away now?

“Hey Kenma?” the voice continues, undeterred by his indifference “Do you like volleyball?”

Kenma's thumb pauses, hovering over the tab to his profile page.

“Not particularly" he doesn't know why he gives such an honest answer to someone he doesn't know "I just kind of do it.”

The guy lets out a contemplative hum before saying “I think it’ll be more fun if you like it” voice softer now.

Kenma suddenly feels compelled to look up, but doesn’t, eyes vacantly looking over the clip art of his little legend.

“What school are you from?” he just finishes asking as a familiar voice calls his name. “Kenma!” Ugh. This person, he really can't ignore unless he wants to get in trouble. He stands up with a resigned exhale though his nose. The Karasuno practices yesterday were tiring enough, why do they have to do morning runs before todays scrims too?

Kuroo’s impatient stance waits as he stands and walks towards it. He half turns to look at his brief conversation partner, registering Shiratorizawa purple.

A slight frame, smaller than he gave it credit for in his initial glance stands next to a bike. The confused expression and the slight head tilt is strangely endearing and Kenma's lips tilt up, in probably the friendliest smile he’s ever been able to pull off to date.

“See you soon” his fingertips tingle as he raises them in a hesitant wave “Shōyō-kun.”

That earns _him_ the sunniest smile in the world. Shōyō’s face transforms in his happiness, cheeks tilting up to tinge with pink, his eyes curving into soft arches as sunrise hair frames the image. The scene around him lights up and the crescent trace of his lips reveal white teeth. He looks vulnerable and beautiful in this genuine happiness that wraps around his form like a cloak.

His heart pulses forcefully.

For a second, Kenma experiences a resolute but irrational desire to _eat_ him.

He turns away. Where the hell did that come from?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo!! Chapter 4 is finally done. Thank you all so much for your kind comments! I'll be sure to answer them all! I did play a year of volleyball in high school but my knowledge is rudimentary because I don't have an eidetic memory haha. Anyway! Hope y'all enjoy this one! 
> 
> Next chapter will be up as soon as possible! (the meeting with the other halves of the pairings are coming up soon!)


	5. Climb over the obstacle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo this took a while! Also, because I didn't offer an explanation for my characterization of Kenma last time, I'll do it here. I think he's a little more intense/extreme than what most of the fandom tend to see him as. I mean I get this bone-deep shock every time his personality does this 180 around Shōyō; eg. "Lets have a final match where it's an instant game over if you lose", "I'll stop if you become boring" and I really feel like that's a pretty cool/significant part of what makes Kenma, Kenma. It also showcases how freaking good Hinata is at reading people and rolling with the punches because he just knows what Kenma means without assuming the worst intentions and accepts it. (One of the reasons he's my favorite character!) But yeah. Thanks for listening to my TED talk hehehehehe. 
> 
> Here's the new chapter! Hopefully y'all will like it!

Unless it involves a probable strategy or looking for someone specific, it’s a general rule that – both in practice and official matches – no one really looks at the benches. _Face the opponent in front of you_ is a mentality that any good athlete holds. This is especially true when facing a team like Shiratorizawa. As long as Wakatoshi Ushijima is on the court, the teammates surrounding him don’t matter that much, let alone those sitting on the sidelines. 

This is probably the reason no one notices the sore thumb that exists among the line of six that aren’t on the court for the team. As Nekoma High’s volleyball squad enter the spacious cool of the gym, for the first time, someone outside the Shiratorizawa team notices the small figure sitting cross-legged on the floor at the edge of the bench. Bleached blond hair swivels as Kenma’s head turns towards the boy wearing a black hoodie so that tufts of orange just peek past the black cloth surrounding his head with a textbook propped open by the angle of his legs.

Shōyō knows two facts. One: that he probably won’t play in any matches, practice or official, against other teams as long as Ushijima remains at school. Two: watching volleyball makes him really energetic, which means that sitting through a few hours where his pent-up need to _move_ mounts and mounts is taxing, to say the least. It honestly feels like he’s doped up on an insane amount of coffee topped off with an energy drink. This means that the only way he’s going to survive the schedule filled to the brim with scrims and training camps without going crazy with his urge to want to move; is to study. He’s even got permission from his coaches as well. It’s a win-win, really, he gets an opportunity that helps him keep the academic scholarship and prevents a physical explosion of excitement from watching lengthy periods of volleyball, knowing that there isn’t a chance of playing. He has a particular study hoodie that is perfect for this as well as it is some sizes big enough that his peripheral vision narrows only to what’s directly in front of him. 

_Chapter 3: Mechanics_ claims his textbook in big letters at the top of the page. The subject of the test on Monday. 

In the end, though, it is the most unproductive he’s ever been during a practice match. Once he saw the guy he met that morning, his curiosity was piqued and it was all downhill from there. Kenma’s playing was way too interesting to look away from. 

Time passes quickly as the sun rises to its apex in the sky, edging on the cusp of its way downwards. Squeaks of shoes on a polished wooden floor, encouraging calls of loud voices and pangs of sharp impact ring through the first half of the day soundly. Sharp claps interrupt the rhythm, stopping the thrall of physical exertion, the previous notes of a practice match are abandoned and exhausted breathing fills its space. 

“Nice work!” says the elderly Nekoma coach “Washijō-sensei and I have some stuff to catch up on, so you all can do some joint practice before winding down. We leave in around two hours.”

“We’re in my office if you need us. Start with basic pair drills.” Coach Tanji adds before they make their way out the gym door. 

_Joint practice? After a scrim?_ Is the general sentiment the adults leave in their wake.

An awkward silence descends for all of a few seconds before an excited voice bounds over to the opposite side of the net. “Kenma, Kenma!” if-excitement-were-a-person calls enthusiastically “Your playing was like _gwaah_ and _woosh_ , it was so cool!” Arms flap as the brain under the orange fluff tries to generate words “It’s like you have some sort of a _pwahh_ categorical jurisdiction over the whole court!”

Kenma doesn’t know how to take such a sincere compliment so he just, kind of, stares(?) while trying to come to terms with the emotive neurons firing in his brain like it was one of those American Star Wars movies. Kuroo bursts into laughter behind him, doubling over and wheezing. 

“Chibi-chan, that was the strangest, most contradictory sentence I’ve ever heard!” he wipes tears from his eyes while trying and failing to contain his glee. 

“This thing here does have some sort of a malfunction after all” Goshiki’s footsteps approach to knock twice on Hinata’s head. 

Shirabu, as the only other player on the team without a sport’s scholarship, feels the urge to defend Hinata’s hard work academically. “It’s okay Hinata-kun! You worked hard to get to your Japanese level! Even when you have zero talent for it!”

Hinata squawks. The world descends into chaos. The captains get annoyed and pair their teams into a more subdued remaining practice. 

Kenma gains a new contact and a friend (and some sort of a feeling for the volleyball that’s played by a hyperactive sunshine-esque boy but like, whatever).

* * *

So, it goes. There are practice matches nearly every week as the Interhigh-Preliminaries loom closer and closer and Hinata has more and more time to study as a result. Of course, there’s a part of him that wants to play with the team, that wants to compete, but until this year he wasn’t even sure he was allowed to formally incorporate volleyball into his life at all. He feels like his center of gravity has been shaken by that addition alone and he doesn’t want to waste it. However, there’s a fundamental level of his existence that started growing with his acceptance on the team that _needs_ the sound of a ball hitting his hand. One that _calls and keeps calling_ for him to stay on the court, to live and fight to play on the court. This feels like a last chance somehow, a final attempt at or goodbye to this sport that he knows can satisfy a bone-deep happiness if he dedicates his life to it. If he can prove himself.

Yet neither coach Tanji nor coach Akira nor Ushijima say anything about what Hinata’s role or contribution to the team looks like or should look like. So, he sucks it up and tells himself he doesn’t mind, not really.

However, with each interaction he has with coach Tanji, and the harsh comment he received from Ushijima 12 days ago, Hinata begins to feel a mounting sort of a frustration. (Ushijima’s voice intones flatly at him every night as he lies in bed; “With movements like those, I figured you would also be good at receives and blocks. You can't compete where height's concerned, so what are you doing with such an infantile level of skill?”) No matter how well he does in practice, no matter how much he tries and how much he grinds his body into dust to improve, everyone still continues to look down on him. 

“This is the first time we’ve had practice on a Sunday, isn’t it?” Ohira asks out to the other third years, fingers grazing the tip of his shoes. 

“That’s true” Satori answers thoughtfully after a beat “and the last time we scrimmed Kakugawa wasn’t until after prelims in our first year”

Eita speaks up as well “The lineup was all third years then, right? The roster must have had a complete reset since then.” 

The seniors linger on the topic for a while longer before Ushijima asks the team to finish warming up as coach Washijō approaches. 

“We’re substituting some players for today. Ushijima, Tendō. I’d like you to sit out” his stern voice cuts to the point. The two in question nod their affirmative. “Soekawa, I know you haven’t played in a while but today you’ll be right wing spiker” Hinata begins to reach for his hoodie “Hinata, middle blocker.”

* * *

Satori is confused. Along with the rest of the team, judging by their faces. He exhales sharply. The Sunday practice was already unusual, but sitting Ushijima out has happened only twice under very specific circumstances. Namely, in unavoidable absences. Ushijima is present today. Which means that there’s another reason for it. 

Substituting Soekawa into an offensive position has just flat out never happened before either. Soekawa is the weakest player on the team, which means that he hasn’t been a starter in all the three years he’s been in the club. Satori will be the first to say how able he is as a vice captain, everyone in the room would unanimously agree that he deserves the #2 jersey. 

But. Soekawa’s skills are centered in that he is well rounded and thus most helpful during practices and when working with newer members. The few times Soekawa has been on the court against other schools was as a defensive specialist; a result of the offense-leaning nature of almost every player in the team.

 _This means_ , Satori thinks, _it’s probably another test for Shō-kun_. It’s less about putting Soekawa in than taking Ushijima out. The middle blocker position is the most disadvantageous for someone of Shō-kun’s height, too.

Then he sees Kakugawa high’s team walk in and _hol-ee shiet_. That is one tall high schooler. Two meters easy. And when they take their starting positions, they’re facing each other across the net. The height difference is almost comical. An orange Shiba Inu versus a Tibetan mastiff – maybe even a bear. Ouch.

Satori tilts his head, trying to discern Shō-kun’s face with some small amount of curiosity. His expression is a 50-50 combination of pouty indignation and fear. This does feel a little extreme from coach Washijō but Satori believes in Shō-kun, he’s a scarily good teammate and adaptive player after all. 

The match starts with a whistle. 

Shō-kun and the rest of the team can’t get an edge in, which is expected, at least until they start gradually figuring out ways to combat that physical advantage. It’s obvious that the team relies maybe a bit too heavily on that tall #9 who’s technique and game sense indicate his lack of experience with the sport. They’ll probably find a way around it within the next few games. A quick side glance reveals that Ushijima’s probably figured it out as well since he’s now staring into space with a clearly bored expression, the same one he wears when flatly criticising someone’s playing. Satori knows that Ushijima probably doesn’t know how much of an effect his words have; he states his opinion honestly and then promptly forgets about what he said since those words directly translate from his thoughts.

Towards the end of the second game, it seems like Reon and Goshiki have found ways to avoid the beanpole #9 in their offense. It wasn’t enough to win, but if they can capitalize on that unveiled opening somehow, a few games could go their way. With the rate of progress though, 2 wins to 3 losses from the five games scheduled today looks like the best-case scenario. 

Satori’s gaze lands on coach Washijō. Man, Shō-kun’s gonna have it rough before ever being allowed to play an official match isn’t he? Speaking of the aforementioned teammate, he looks like he’s about to explode in frustration that’s been building higher and higher with every spike from that #9 he’s been unable to touch, every spike by him that’s been blocked by said #9 and every disdainful look from coach Washijō. 

But just as Satori was hoping that anger didn’t negatively affect Shō-kun’s performance. Feet softly landed on the wooden floor, seconds after the ball slammed down on the other side of the court. 

It’s strange how eerie stillness can be from someone like Shōyō.

* * *

Shōyō felt the tightness in his chest expanding. With every single failed attempt at looking over that massively tall wall, his heart slowed but pulsed more and more jarringly. His body felt too small, to insignificant to contain these feelings. 

_You see_ coach Washijō’s eyes seemed to say, accompanied by a crushed voice in his head _you can never do this. Just accept that you were born unfortunate. Settle, don’t be selfish_. And after a blocked spike from Goshiki, his teammates’ frustration seemed to join in as well _It’s over. We can’t do well against this._.

Shōyō’s body moves on its own. 

“Set to me” he demands Shirabu quietly. And as the ball starts moving, his lungs feel like they’ve expanded to twice their size. He walks in front of that #9 and stands right in front of him. Needing to crane his head _so_ much just to look him in the face, the lights of the gym squinting his eyes to the sight of that imposingly tall figure. 

And you know what? _Fuck this._ Fuck being tall. He jumps at the ball with the straining tendons and muscles in his legs screaming their opposition. Why does something like that have to be important anyway. The ball slams on the other end of the court. A clear path. Fucking finally. 

If the dumb-fucking-ass two meters means that Shōyō starts at a lower point, he just has to be faster right? His hand stings with the impact of another ball. _See_ his teeth grit _what’s the big deal. Even that stupidly high spike can be blocked._.

If that bullshit genetic lottery number gives Shōyō a disadvantage because his reach is shorter, he just has to get there first, right? His back protests as it stretches and arches for the ball. It hits the ground on the line.

Who the fuck gives a shit that he’s 162 centimeters. Shōyō certainly doesn’t. 

And this is his body. 

So, damn this fucking situation that thinks it can dictate something that belongs to him. 

_He’s_ the one that endures the burning sensation underneath his skin after a good jump. _He’s_ the one that feels the aching sting in his lungs as his body heaves from hours of practice. _He’s_ the one that suffers the cramping throb of his heart breaking when his brain wants to give up. Not coach Tanji, not Ushijima and not anyone else. 

_Him_.

So, guess what? He’ll decide if it’s not good enough. He’ll decide if and when his body needs to stop loving volleyball. He’ll prove them wrong.

They win the next three sets.

* * *

Yūdai Hyakuzawa was asked to join sports teams at Kakugawa because of his height, he knows that. But he chose volleyball because it seemed simple so that there was a lesser chance at disappointing his teammates. He gave his all during practices to make his fellow club members happy and that was that. 

Hyakuzawa didn’t think there was more to be done for something so simple, anyways. He could reach the ball easily in any situation, so far and that’s what his team needed him to do.

Until he couldn’t. The shortest player he’s ever seen dared to fly in front of him and he couldn’t.

Even with the advantage, he was always too late. In the end, he looks into shining mahogany eyes and reaches both his arms under the net to grasp at the tiny hand.

Maybe not so simple, after all.

* * *

In the next week, coach Akira convinces coach Tanji to be there when they approach Hinata to talk about what his position on the team means. This is a conversation they have with every new member and since it was already long overdue, coach Akira feels like they owe it to him.

“Hinata-kun” he starts “coach Washijō and I have decided that you’d be a good substitute for Wakatoshi-kun depending on the scenario” Hinata listens attentively, feet dangling from the chair “As you know, Wakatoshi-kun could probably play and win a 1v6 volleyball match with his skill set. However, you work well as an adaptive teammate and help the people standing on the court with you shine brightly. This type of a team dynamic is useful in certain situations and at least for this year, even though there’s a low likelihood of this happening, you’ll play upon that premise, is that alright with you?” Hinata nods and coach Akira smiles. Coach Tanji looks like the proud father of a graduating child and about to have an aneurysm all at once. 

Hinata thanks them both before walking out the door to make his way back to the gym only to be stopped by Ushijima in the hall. His teammate glares toweringly and Hinata wants to hide, any confidence he has on the court unfortunately doesn’t translate off of it. “C-captain Ushijima” he stutters, and any bravado he has ever possessed in his life is reduced to singular products of adrenaline. 

Ushijima watches Hinata fidget and avoid his gaze for a few moments before clearing his throat to get his attention. He sets his mouth in a firm line before bowing slightly, curtly “Even with your athleticism you aren’t good enough at receives and blocks, and your skill level still remains infantile.” the emotive eyes in front of him shutter and begin to lose some of their expression, but Ushijima presses forward “However, you have changed my mind from before. You can compete where height is concerned.” Ushijima takes a deep breath “I will share the court with you.” he nods stiffly before continuing on his way past his shortest teammate.

* * *

Shōyō’s routine during practice changes after that. He trains and participates in more drills with the starting lineup, avoids Ushijima less and asks questions to coach Washijō without them being ignored all the time. 

Before he knows it, the Interhigh Preliminaries are upon them and he finds himself in the Shiratorizawa Civic Gymnasium for the first time, with a team. He brings a small study notepad with a pencil to the bench for their matches as he doesn’t think his overflowing bookbag would be smiled upon. They 2:0 against Ohgiminami and Tebaichi High, making it to the finals which take place next weekend in the Sendai City Gymnasium. Shōyō’s pretty excited just for that, honestly. He’s never been in such a big gym before. 

Saturday arrives quickly and before their pre-game warm-ups, Ushijima went off and hasn’t come back yet. Coach Washijō presses his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose grumbling before he pins Hinata with a stare. “Go find him and call him here.” Shōyō salutes before bolting outside in the direction of the parking lot, he thinks Ushijima had said something along the lines of forgetting something in the bus. He isn’t there, so he takes a detouring route back in the direction of another entrance and that’s where he hears Ushijima’s voice.

“-cultivating one’s talent is crucial to winning. Without it you’re made only of baseless claims.” Yep, that’s the tone of voice that had broken his heart. In the safety of his own head, Shōyō calls it Ushijima-san’s-constructive-but-not-actually tone of voice. Now that he knows there isn’t any ill-intent behind it and since he’s his teammate, Shōyō’s learned not to take it too hard but against an opposing team this is just-

“Well, it’s good then that I have no talent naturally, then. Six who are strong together are stronger!” and the relentless insistence in that voice grasps Shōyō’s heart in its thrall (he felt that, after all, felt it so strongly he could bleed with it). Shōyō takes a deep breath before approaching the scene, he feels like the rivers of testosterone that Ushijima emanates in his words tend to be antagonistic towards the most sensitive places. He’s caught himself wanting to cry at some of them a few times. 

“Captain Ushijima! Coach is calling for you!” Shōyō says cheerfully and formally, bouncing towards his taller teammate. Ushijima nods before walking past him in the direction of the nearest entrance, he doesn’t acknowledge his conversation partner. 

Shōyō sighs and turns to him instead, apology ready on his tongue. When he meets those eyes, though, he has to pause for a second. 

_Wah, so intense_.

* * *

In his 17 years of living, Tōru has met that shade of hair with that boundless energy only once before. 

He never thought it’d happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyyyyy! We met the other half of one of the potential pairings. The other one comes tomorrow!
> 
> Thank you guys so so so so so so much for the support! I have the kindest readers in the universe TT.
> 
> PS. I'll fix it for the previous chapter's but I'd like to use the first name of the character when using the first person POV because referring to oneself by a surname feels less natural. Sorry for that inconsistency!!


	6. prove yourself and rise? (But maybe meet someone along the way)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... I was hospitalized (not for COVID haha but it still happened). Sorry for the late update nonetheless! I couldn't get a break till recently. But this chapter is also three times the length of my previous ones. I got kinda trigger happy when I was fleshing it out so hopefully this makes up for it! I'll be back to weekly updates until September!
> 
> Also I am leaning towards Oihina given the overwhelming preference from my readers. But someone suggested writing alternate endings for both? I'll try to if it ends up being possible given time constraints that'll emerge when Fall 2020 starts up. (I've surpassed the credit limit this time in an effort to meet a requirement so...)
> 
> I've taken interactions and quotes from canon to write this chapter so credits to Haruichi Furodate!

_Most people who know about his hatred for those born with a natural gift, think it started with Kageyama Tobio._

_It didn’t._

_Kageyama was a culmination, a dangerous tipping point that had been building for years and years, one that was fortunately prevented by Iwaizumi. Still, it wasn’t the first time._

_Tōru has always felt too intensely, liking something didn’t really exist as much as obsession did, disliking as much as apathy did. As a child especially, when his thought-to-action filter hadn’t yet set in, this landed him in more than a few predicaments._

_He was ten when he told his parents about an upcoming quiz, one like any of the dozens he’s taken that year alone. Normally, at this, they would give him a sincere ‘good luck’ followed by a ‘good job’ a few weeks later when he gets it back, no matter the result. They’ve never had any expectations of him, and yet he still tells them about every assignment or quiz. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping to achieve._

_Yet, “Tōru” his father had chuckled when he told him what it was about (it was a science test, questions about the data they collected on rock sizes, the ones in the pit next to the school playground) “You should do well on that test.” Tōru thinks he might’ve misheard “After all, your mother and met in a statistics lecture.”_

_And suddenly it wasn’t just any other quiz. His parents, for the first time, had asked him to do well. He couldn’t let them down. He would show them that they could expect stuff from him and that he would succeed and even exceed their expectations. He wouldn’t just_ do well _, he’d get the best score in the entire class._

_So, for the next few days he had studied as if it was the air filling his lungs. He breezes through the questions on the day and wakes up early to get to school on the day he’ll get his test back. 19.5/20 stares up at him in bright, red ink and he thinks that he’s succeeded for one content moment._

_“Ehhh? Jiina-chan got all of them right?” a classmate exclaims, looking over a desk “That’s amazing!” And Tōru feels his blood run cold._

_This was the most he’d tried in his entire life, the only time he’s ever_ wanted _. But he was beaten out, by someone he_ knows _couldn’t have possibly tried as hard. He felt like the entire universe was pitted against him. A feeling that threatened to suffocate him took seed and began to grow in his chest. That frustration bloomed to anger bloomed to white-hot fury and he’d lashed out and coldly directed all his bitterness at that person. Directed the ridicule and ire of uninvolved classmates at her purely for the crime of existing._

_Tōru was ten when he first understood what it meant to be worse for no reason._

_The guilt hit soon enough, though. He never felt good about his actions but seeing her cry from a particularly bad bout of teasing had reality come crashing down around him. His body drowned in ice, lungs catching in a stranglehold of needles every time he looked at her, every time he did or got back a test. He couldn’t stand it. He didn’t know how to feel like this for the rest of his crappy existence._

_And the worst part was he didn’t know how to make it stop._

_A week later finds, he finds himself upending grass from his porch, hands rough with soil, sighing and failing to think up a solution when a small figure plopped themselves down in front of him. Squatting and trying to meet his eyes._

_“Uhh, who are you?” He looks up to see orange hair and glitteringly huge eyes._

_“I’m Shōyō! My mom’s inside fixing some stuff that broke in your house. She can do everything!”_

_“Shōyō-kun?” He wonders what the kanji for his name were “How old are you?”_

_“I’m seven!” he says and wow Tōru was off, he hadn’t thought that Shōyō was in school, let alone his second year of primary. “Why are you sad?”_

_“Why do you think I’m sad?”_

_“Cause I know what sad looks like.”_

_There’s a pause where Tōru didn’t know what to say, but slowly thinks that maybe a second opinion could give him a solution, something he didn’t think of? Even if it’s a stranger “I… hurt someone. Someone who didn’t deserve it, just because I was angry”_

_“So you feel bad and that’s why you’re sad?” Tōru nods, the furrowed eyebrows in his line of sight open up and he hears Shōyō laugh, as if Tōru surprised him “Well that’s easy! If you hurt someone, you gotta apologize and make it up to them!” the tufts of orange sway as his head tilts “My mom always gets me ice cream when I’m sad and that makes me feel better!”_

_Tōru is shocked into silence. It couldn’t be that easy… could it?_

_“Hey! You didn’t tell me your name! What is it?” A shiningly earnest expression stares into him._

_“Tō-Tōru” he stutters, not expecting the insistence of the question._

_“Hmm. Totoro? Oh! Like the umm- tanuki? Rabbit? In that movie!” brown eyes glint “That’s so cool! I wish I had a name of a movie character!”_

_“Uh yeah” Tōru concedes, still lost enough in the scenarios playing in his head to mind being given the name of a cartoon forest hybrid._

_“Shōyō! Time to go!” comes a woman’s voice from his doorway._

_“Nice to meet you Totoro-kun, hopefully we’ll see each other again!”_

_He bounds away._

_That weekend, Jiina forgives him._

_The squeeze of his chest subsides._

* * *

“You’re the setter for Aobajohsai right? Oikawa-san?”

Tōru’s lips are faintly curved at the memory and he lets it bleed out of his attention, pulling his focus to the present he says lightly “Ah yeah, that’s me” smiles more disarmingly “Are you on the team for Shiratorizawa? What position?”

“Yep! I’m a spiker!” So a bench warmer for Ushijima then, well, with his height that isn’t entirely surprising. Tōru briefly wonders how he even got on the team, though, the Shiratorizawa coach is notoriously anal about having a physically advantageous build.

“Captain Ushijima is rather stubborn isn’t he?” says Shōyō. That reminds him.

Tōru closes his eyes and sighs, releasing the remnants of the cold anger that linger after charged encounters with Ushijima. Getting incensed before playing against Shiratorizawa never did any good. “Guess so. What’s your name shorty?”

“I’m Hinata Shōyō!” he grins for a few seconds before looking at the clock visible through the glass walls. “Ah we should be getting back. Anyway! Don’t let our captain get to you! He means well even if the way he expresses it has the opposite effect.” Shooting one last crescent mooned smile, he turns with a “See you in a bit, Oikawa-san!”

Tōru raises a lazy arm after Shorty turns around. His positivity was still able to balm his edges without even trying. That was an unexpected blast from the past, not an unwelcome one, nevertheless.

* * *

Shōyō thinks Oikawa-san had looked familiar, he just doesn’t know where from. Approaching his team, Shōyō sees Goshiki and Kenjirō-senpai finishing off a charged conversation.

“Coach! I’m back!” and coach Tanji nods.

Shōyō smiles, for which he receives an eye-roll then lags back for a few seconds as the team makes to walk to the locker rooms, gently catching Goshiki’s jacket between his thumb and forefinger. He turns, eyes questioning and stance closed.

“Goshiki” He addresses the only first year on the starting lineup “You’ll do great today so take it easy, alright? You'll become an Ace soon for sure!”

Goshiki’s arms loosen to hang at his sides and his eyebrows spread open on his face. “Of course I will! I’m not a benchwarmer like you!” he says, turning his nose up. But his eyes are turning up, irises peeking at Shōyō through slivers.

Shōyō chuffs. “Yeah, yeah. Go on.” He softly kicks in the back of Goshiki’s knees.

“ _You’re_ the one who stopped _me_ ” he scrunches his nose and as he starts walking, Shōyō thinks he hears a soft mumble around the lines of ‘how do people always know when I’m nervous, dammit.’

The changing room is charged with excitement, excluding the lone island of confidence from captain Ushijima. Satori-senpai had said that Aobajohsai always made for some challenging games, which makes sense. The middle blocker in question is whistling softly as he changes, but his left calf is periodically clenching and unclenching so Shōyō knows he’s looking forward to play today, too. He drapes his hoodie over his arm.

As the team begin to turn around coach Tanji glares everyone into stillness “You better play today.” Shōyō tugs at the edges of his notepad’s cover, twirling his pencil in the space between his fingers. “Unless you want an extra hour of practice dedicated to suicides for the entire week.” Some of the starting lineup wince. Shōyō grimaces, suicides are absolutely the most hellish form of training.

“Yes coach!” they answer in tandem, bowing and filing out after him. Shōyō gives his carry ons to coach Akira to take back after introductions. Reon-senpai is walking in front of him so he mumbles a quiet “I’ll cheer for you Reon-senpai.” As they enter into the wide open of the gym.

The offensive trio and Satori walk up to do practice spikes, along with Kenjirō-senpai who’ll set. Captain Ushijima’s first and the wide-open eyes of people in the crowd greet the bang and bounce of his ball. Shōyō knows how good his team is so he moves on to think about the English test he’ll be studying for during the series.

Aobajohsai walks up to spike next and Shōyō’s heart stops for a second when he sees Oikawa-san set. It’s perfect. There is literally nothing to nitpick. It’s different for every teammate, too. Melding to each and every one of their spikes perfectly. Shōyō didn’t even know that was possible, holy crap. He watches mesmerized as Oikawa-san sets again and again with absolute control over is body.

They lineup after it’s done and Oikawa-san gives him a brief quirk of the lips when their eyes meet as Shōyō walks to the bench to make way for the starting lineup introductions. He gets the sudden urge to watch the match just to see more of those flawless sets, he feels like Odysseus, wanting to hear the sirens, despite the overwhelming danger. He takes his stuff from coach Akira, eyes still flicking to Seijō’s setter, but still plops down onto the floor next to the bench shrugging his hoodie on and curling in, building walls with his own body. Managing to wrangle a study plan from his distracted brain took every year of experience he’s had denying himself volleyball.

* * *

Before the referee blows the whistle, Tōru allows himself to look at the shorty. _Cute_ supplies his mind, unbidden, as he sees the tiny figure, huddled into himself and absorbed by a dark material, most likely a sweater.

* * *

When Shōyō emerges from spiralling thoughts of ‘there, they’re, their’ for the first time, he sees the numbers 22-20 staring back at him. He would whistle lowly if he could. Cutting it close, aren’t we. He looks up to his side and sees the loose posture of coach Tanji and realizes that close matches are probably a regular thing against this team. He’s not surprised, but he can’t wait to watch the vods tonight in the empty gym. Free to release the pent-up energy from watching good volleyball.

They win, break before the second game and coach Tanji berates/pep-talks the team as they circle into discussions and observations from the first game.

Shōyō narrows in on his notepad, coach Akira gently places a hand on his back, palm open. “Gym’ll be open till 10:30 tonight” he near-whispers. Shōyō’s body goes lax in reassurance.

A lot of people who aren’t on the team tend to think that coach Akira comes as a complement to coach Tanji, as an addendum to the famous 'Demon Coach', but that isn’t true. A ceiling built on one pillar isn’t as reliable as one built on two.

The next game is a 25-23 for them and although it’s a 2:0, he didn’t think he’d see numbers like that with an Ushijima led lineup. For the post-game handshake, he sees the varying degrees of anger and devastation plain on the faces of every player from the other side. His own emotions struggle to respond to such open pain.

He feels it in his heart despite it being secondhand and as everyone files out to change and go for food and head home, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, coming up with an excuse about needing to cook for Natsu. They all assume he’s going to the gym, which, fair, but his first stop is to go and wash his face, he needs to collect his thoughts.

Shōyō stuffs his notebook in his bag and swings it over his right shoulder taking off at a slow trot to the bathroom he saw when he was trying to find captain Ushijima.

Ow. A wall?

Oh, a person.

Oh no, a super tall person.

He glances up and feels his heart rate pick up, “I’m really sorry I wasn’t looking where I was go-” …wait he knows this person.

“Tsukishima-kun?”

“Do I know you?” comes the flat response

“We use to play volleyball together sometimes when we were kids, remember?” He doesn’t think his appearance has changed that much in 3 years. “On the court in Nishigaoka park! Before junior high when you stopped coming around?”

His eyes expand a bit in realization “Ah, Shōyō.” His expression closes into neutrality again, which kinda looks supercilious on him, in Shōyō’s opinion “I see you haven’t grown vertically at all. Are you actually on Shiratorizawa? I didn’t see you among the team today.”

“Ah well I’m on the bench.” He scratches his head sheepishly; the air is tense and he feels like he’s walking through a minefield. “How’s Akiteru-san? Is he still playing? What school are you playing for?” and just like that his face molds into expectant coldness.

Shōyō flinches.

Boom. Explosion.

“Karasuno. And no.” the refusal is spit out goadingly “You’d know all about that, though. Zero natural talent and an utter lack of suitable genetics. You’re a great and crucial player to your team, aren’t you?” no shortage of sarcasm coats his voice. Shōyō feels anger. But maybe, he thinks, not at the words, not really, that’s mostly just upsetting but at how much the person in front of him had changed. Seeing such a cheerful childhood friend like this. Tsukishima who had used to love volleyball, who’d never shut up about his older brother and who was _good_ at the sport too. Even now, his height lends him an advantage Shōyō’s yearned achingly for more than a dozen times.

How on earth had this come about?

“At least I haven’t given up like you.” Shōyō’s eyes sharpen. He knows from an outside perspective he isn’t that intimating, what with the circa 30 centimeters Tsukishima has on him.

“Please, you couldn’t get a single ball past me.”

Shōyō sees the hole in the plating and strikes. “Wanna try it?” His voice is getting louder, but his pulse remains steady. “I’m 100% sure that I can.” He can see him turning the idea over in his brain.

“I guess I’m being asked to show reality to the delusional.” he scoffs, even his sigh is infuriatingly taunting. “Fine, whatever. Tomorrow 4pm. The Karasuno gym, it’ll be open so find your way. If I say no you’ll just pester me anyway.” He scoffs then turns on his heel and walks away “See ya. Idiot.”

Shōyō walks in through the doors and opens a sink all the way to the right. Cold water meets his hands and face. Stares in the mirror for a while, he sees the tips of his hair reach less than a third of the mirror’s height so his neck tries stretching upwards to no avail. He shakes the remaining drops of water on his hands into the sink and walks out, wiping his face with his sleeve.

As he approaches the door out the stadium, outside the entrance he sees Oikawa-san. Right. He’ll probably need a setter for the match. He’ll ask him and if he says no, he’ll bribe Kenjirō-senpai with bento and get him to do it.

“Oikawa-san!” he calls. The long strides shorten then stop, his head tilts to the side, eyes shifting to look at him.

“Chibi-chan! Need anything?” The lightness of his tone is offset by the sag of his eyes and the smile that looks more like a grimace than anything.

“Umm…” he suddenly realizes how awkward his idea was and rolls the material of the damp sleeve of his hoodie between his fingers “So, ah, well-- you see…” cedar eyes look questioningly at him.

“I might’ve challenged someone way taller that I could spike past them, which, um, yeah probably doesn’t sound so smart from your perspective but uhh” his nose itches to scrunch up in embarrassment and bribing Kenjirō-senpai probably was the better idea “aaaah, so couldyousetforme?” he winces at his tact, or well, lack thereof. “You can say no, like I mean we don’t know each other, I just like saw you and thought hey I could just try asking anyway but like-”

“Yeah sure, short-stuff” he interrupts the word vomit with an easy acquiescence and suddenly Shōyō’s heart skips and he’s looking forward to tomorrow more than he was already.

“Really? Thank you, Oikawa-san!” he bows deeply, all the way down to 90 degrees and even ponders dogeza. “It’s at the Karasuno gym tomorrow at 4pm!” and he does the wisest thing he could do at that point by yelling a “See you tomorrow” and a “thank you again” in keigo and running away.

He gets to the Shiratorizawa gym and spikes through every ball in a cart before calming down enough to watch the vods.

He trains till 10:00 and does a cooldown while cleaning up, taking care to thoroughly wiping the floors. When he finishes Shōyō decides that since it’s summer and he doesn’t want to clean the locker room, he’d take a shower once he gets home.

Given the thing with Tsukishima tomorrow, he’ll have to get up early to get some studying in and meal prep for his sister and mother. He wonders if he should bake something as a thank you to Oikawa-san. He has some leftover yeast from his venture into sourdough bread two weeks ago, so, milk bread maybe? He doesn’t know anyone that dislikes milk bread. Or dorayaki? He’ll buy some azuki beans from the 7/11 on his way just in case anyhow, and ask for a second opinion before his mother leaves for work in the morning.

* * *

Shōyō left, and thus arrived, early thinking he’d get lost, but his destination had been startlingly easy to find. Walking up to the Karasuno gym, smaller than the Shiratorizawa one he’s used to, with a paper bag with wrapped milk-bread hanging from his fingers and his bag on his back, he sees a dude with more beard than any other high schooler he knows sitting with his legs loosely propped up back against a wall with lost eyes. His fingers are tossing and catching the volleyball between them absently so he’s probably on the team here.

“Hello? Are you alright?” he stands in front of the guy and realizes how much smaller he is in comparison despite beard-dude being the one who’s sitting on the ground.

Eyes quickly flick up to him “You’re…”

“Hinata Shōyō, I’m at Shiratorizawa, I kinda challenged Tsukishima to a thing today. Are you on the Karasuno volleyball team?”

There’s a silence and his face morphs into confusion “Ah, I wasn’t expecting you” Shōyō prepares himself for a comment about his stature, he sees it in the previously adrift eyes “to be... this early, I guess, did you overestimate how long it’d take to get here?”

Shōyō’s face is the one that’s declaring confusion now, most people don’t bother to try and censor themselves even verbally. It’s the truth. He’s short for non-sports team standards too. “Right. Sorry. I’m Azumane Asahi, the ‘Ace’ of the Karasuno team.” he laughs self-deprecatingly at the last part.

“Wow! You're an Ace! That's so so utterly cool!”

“Gym’s open. You can go get ready. Daiichi, our captain, Sugawara, who’s also a third year and I’ll be here to ref since our coaches and manager unfortunately had prior plans. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi will probably arrive in 10 to 15 minutes or so.” He pushes himself off the wall, standing now, dwarfing Shōyō. “You have a setter?”

“Ah yeah. I don’t know the exact time but he’ll get here.” he’s herded towards the enclosed panels and stairs that lead up to the double doors of the building. Within his first few steps, he hears a lazily called “Shorty” from an approaching Oikawa-san. They meet at the steps. Shōyō feels like he’s taken double the steps as the two other people here.

“Hi Oikawa-san!” Shōyō smiles up at him “Thanks again! You didn’t have to!”

“No problem. It’s not like I had plans.” besides brooding, Tōru thinks briefly to himself. This was as good a way to spend his Sunday as any.

Asahi wasn’t expecting the Seijō setter who Kageyama had proclaimed his arch rival. Maybe the Shiratorizawa one was busy? They enter inside. “You guys can head to the benches. I’ll contact the others up to see where they’re at.”

Shōyō walks with Oikawa-san to sit on the bench, unlatching his bag to get his kneepads. Once he’s put them on, shrugged his sweater off and wrestled himself into calming down some, he stands up, takes the plastic bag and holds it in front of the setter’s face. I didn’t know how I could thank you, but here.” He flicks his wrist to rattle the plastic. “I hope you don’t hate milk bread.” and when cedar eyes crinkle in a smile, Shōyō absolutely does not feel like the half hour which he spent perfectly wrapping the loaf in decorative tape and plastic were worth it.

“Thank you, I love milk bread.” Tōru takes the bag and glimpsing inside realizing that the Shorty actually baked it. That makes him feel some kind of way. “You didn’t need to.” He gets a shrug from tiny shoulders but he sees the tips of his ears flush to blend in with the orange hair.

The low sound of the air conditioner continues to whir, Shōyō looks out the window behind the bench.

The pause is broken by a sudden “Oikawa-san.” Tōru hums in query “This might sound weird to you since it feels out of your playstyle, or at least what I’ve seen of it but” Shorty exhales at the ground then meets his eyes straight on, voice unwavering “toss to me where you think is best. Don’t cater to me. Play selfish.”

He processes the words for a second.

That didn’t make sense to Tōru. He’d like to think he was self-aware, aware that he tended to play more recklessly without Iwaizumi, sure, pushing the boundaries of spikers a little callously and without mental or emotional preparation on their end. But _selfish_. He doesn’t think he _knows_ at all how to do that. He lets out a puff of air through his nose, body tipping forward “Wh-” but the there’s a loud click and his words die on his tongue, attention shifting to the five Karasuno players in the doorway.

Shōyō whirls around to face the doorway in muted surprise. Tsukishima walks in first, Yama- Yama-something trailing after him – who, Shōyō notes, is also vertically unchallenged. He thinks that since this’ll be the norm for the majority of the people he’ll meet from now on he should stop being surprised. Why couldn’t Tsukishima have been friends with a libero.

The four who hadn’t seen Oikawa-san yet do double takes, Tsukishima scoffs and sighs resignedly at the same time, moving to put down his bag.

Shōyō plops backwards, butt colliding with the wood of the bench next to Oikawa-san’s, pinkies grazing together and grumbles “ _Don’t worry Shōyō_ , they said _you’ll grow taller soon Shōyō_ they said. I’ve been 162 for the last three and a half years. My mom’s 178cm and dad was 184cm, they finished their growth spurts by the end of junior high.” He’s surprised his benchmate into laughter judging by the joyful chortles that are quickly being covered by soft coughing. “The universe hates me. That’s the only explanation.” he bemoans with more melodrama than initially intended. He’s not in the mood to look deeper into the why of that yet.

“That is certainly unfortunate.” rumbles Oikawa-san with a level of grave understanding in his tone that could only be sarcastic.

Shōyō should be bristling but isn’t “Ha ha. Hack it up. Doesn’t matter on the court anyway” coach Tanjo has him measure his vertical reach before and after every practice and he’s steadily improving so he guesses it’s better to focus on that than his standing 162.8cm.

The most intimidating of the trio – the captain? – claps his hands loudly. “Take your sides on the court.” he says sternly.

Giving a smile to Oikawa-san, Shōyō tries to curb the enthusiasm he’s leaking into his movements. Walking over to the side of the court the other two weren’t walking towards. Yama-dude leans into preparatory stretches. Tsukishima’s standing loosely, waiting for him to finish. He’s still wearing a sweater and holy crap does that make Shōyō want him to drown in his sweat because he’s going to make him _work_ for it.

“May I ask why Oikawa?” comes the friendly voice of the gray haired one, not the captain so probably Sugar- Sugasa- Sugawara-san (yeah that sounds right), interrupting the silence. “Shorty asked me, yesterday and I said yes.” Oikawa-san answers.

“Why not your team’s setter? At Shiratorizawa, I mean.” He continues and he feels the curious gaze of everyone in the room.

“Ah well,” his fingers find the material of his shorts “Kenjirō-senpai got into Shiratorizawa with academics, like me? We’re the only ones on the team not on a sports scholarship and so he gets anxious when he’s taken away from studying during his free time.” Shōyō gets like that too, a bit, knows firsthand how demanding and important schoolwork is. He’s intimately familiarized himself with the high threshold he has to achieve above to keep his academic scholarship. “Besides, the only way he would’ve agreed is if I promised to make him bento for a month in exchange.” Kenjirō-senpai also actually wants to go down a more collegiate route after graduating – medicine – so Shōyō tries his best to be as supportive of that as possible. That means not bothering him unless absolutely necessary. Kenjirō-senpai studies to beat his competition to his dream, Shōyō studies to beat his requirement, same process, different goals. “I just happened to run into Oikawa-san, if he said no then I would’ve gone the bento route.”

When Shōyō’s eyes flick around, he sees varying degrees of incredulity from everyone. He’s not sure why. There was nothing shocking or special in anything he said.

He thinks now is probably the best time to go through his pre-game ritual. Coach Tanji's words, from after their scrim with Kakugawa high, run through his brain.

 _You have absolutely no game sense_ he had said _and it’ll take time we don’t have for you to get enough so, instead, go ask the starting six for advice and run it through your head before you play._

Shōyō inhales through his nose and lets it go through his mouth.

 _Make them work for the ball, Shō-chan, most of your opponents will get tired and sloppy. You don’t_. Satori-senpai.

 _Focus on the arms and fingers during contact. It’s like a physics problem, where is the ball going, how fast_. Kenjirō-senpai.

 _Position and run towards the ball with your hands, not your body. Your face seems to be receiving more than them, after all_. Hayato-senpai.

 _There’s no power in your attacks, only speed. Go around, not through a defense_. Captain Ushijima.

 _Don’t be dumb. Think_. Goshiki.

 _Expect to win. Treat every point like it’s a full game_. Reon-senpai.

Shōyō opens his eyes as the coin finishes flipping and the Karasuno captain speaks. “2-on-2. Bo3, 25 points, three touches per team and one person can’t touch the ball twice in a row with the exception of services.” He straightens the scoreboard, indicating beardy- no, Asahi-san to keep track “No time limit, Tsukishima-Yamaguchi serves.”

The whistle screeches.

Tsukishima bumps up the ball to serve it, Yamaguchi moves to track Oikawa-san’s movements in case of a dump. _Run with your hands_ he steps forward once to receive the ball up high for Oikawa-san to set. Tsukishima slowly jogs to the net, he won’t be on time to block if Shōyō times his jump correctly, Oikawa-san’s toss is fast and high so he picked up on the same thing but his gaze is apologetic. Shōyō crouches, flexing his calves lightly in order to maintain the speed advantage and tipping forward his center of balance he arches his back then _jumps_. His palm collides with the ball. _Whooosh_ , _bang_.

Tōru’s heart stops, then beats double-time. His chin loosens but he doesn’t want to be caught with an open-mouthed expression in the _Karasuno_ gym. Not that anybody seems to be paying attention to him, right now.

He really _really_ wants to toss to Shorty again.

Kei feels like he’s inhaled every molecule of oxygen in the room. _That can’t have been anything but a fluke_ , his body moves faster anyway.

Heart soaring and body thrumming, Shōyō plays, knowing that in the moment everything is volleyball.

They score three times, one a dump from Oikawa-san before Yama-dude’s spike barely grazes the line. In bounds, his serve. The first service is too far, his freckles darken, and his re-service is underhand so it’s short and high but that was probably a good decision since both him and the Seijō setter aren’t anywhere near the net. That’ll be a tough, but Shōyō knows he’s fast enough, he’ll receive it. _Treat each point like a full game_ his muscles coil and he runs to the ball _Don’t be dumb. Think._ Shōyō sets up the ball for Oikawa-san to hit, it’s a bad toss but the setter spikes it. Both players on the opposite side of the net are gathered in front of him, after all.

That turned out to be a mistake on their end because then Oikawa-san takes four service aces in a row. Yama-dude receives, two contacts on their side and Shōyō goes up to spike. Tsukishima’s dumb sweater comes off.

His spike is blocked. Shōyō feels like victory.

The ball bounces between sides again and again.

Seeing the challenging grin stay on the spikers face since the first block, Tōru realizes why his playstyle seems strange. It’s more repetitive than what he’s probably capable of and since that badly aimed toss for Tōru to spike, he hasn’t pulled anything at all. He first attributes it to this not being a scrim or an actual game, he himself is not trying his hardest because of that fact, so he guesses that’s also what it is for Shorty. But as he sees the rage build then shift to determination on Four Eyes’ face, he gets why. The frighteningly athletic player in front of him isn’t playing to win. He’s playing to rile up his opponent.

 _Look at me_ his playstyle says _I’m shorter and weaker— so why can’t you do anything about it?_

Shōyō receives Tsukishima’s – really hard, what the actual fuck – spike with his chin but Oikawa-san dumps it anyway, suppressing a smile as he does. The Karasuno trio on the side all chortle, the captain blowing his whistle as his eyes squint in quelled laughter, Shōyō huffs in embarrassment ears heating up as his face follows.

“Game!” 20-25 declares the scoreboard. Shōyō’s having a blast. The win was achieved through volleyball the equivalent of sticking his tongue out. Tsukishima’s shoulders are even set in a way that tells him his message got through. All he needs is to get a glint of fun from the dude and his job is done. “Break for 15!” says Sugawara-san before turning to his captain “Daiichi-” and Shōyō has figured out the names of the Karasuno trinity.

“Hell of a jump you got there, Shorty.” Oikawa-san remarks between swallows of water. He doesn’t look too winded.

“Ah yeah” Shōyō smiles widely accepting the compliment “Thank you!”

“Could I ask what your vertical reach is?”

“331cm” his mouth answers before he could think about it. Shōyō worries for a second before rationing that he probably won’t be part of a lineup playing against an Aobajohsai with Oikawa-san on it and even if he did, everyone could probably estimate within his first spike during an actual game.

The setter whistles and puts down the practically empty bottle “You weren’t kidding when you said your height doesn’t matter in game huh.” That’s how he got past coach height-and-weight then, Tōru thinks then says, because he would be himself otherwise “I don’t think I saw a single solid receive though, strange given your speed.” He grins down jauntily at the Shorty who huffs and puffs and blows out a breath, pouting.

“I know, I know.” Shōyō hears that practically hourly from captain Ushijima. Finishing his own bottle, they make their way back onto the court as the 15 minutes elapse.

Game 2 is a whole ‘nother ballgame, though. No pun intended. The two Karasuno players match them point by point and Shōyō feels completely exhilarated. In his opinion, this is one of his favorite types of volleyball. (Possibly only beaten by a high-stakes game that lights his blood on fire.) This type of volleyball makes his heart swell and gets his body overflowing with dopamine.

Shōyō whoops at every spike he gets past Tsukishima, laughs out loud when he receives with anything other than his arms and exclaims while air punching at every point gained. He even high fives Oikawa-san after a particularly seamless set-and-spike. He wants to win this game. He wants his opponents to have as much fun as he’s having.

* * *

Something clicks for Asahi watching Shōyō play.

After the revenge-fuelled training that resulted in their victory against Date-Tech, volleyball became aimless. Like he was just watching from afar as his body went through the motions. The absolutely spectacular 0:2 against Aobajohsai cemented that fact further. He was unworthy of being the ace of his team. What even was the point of this stupid, heartbreaking sport?

He thinks he’s found the answer. It’s in Shōyō’s delighted encouragements yelled to Oikawa, it’s in his _Holy crap that’s_ awesome’s when Tsukishima jumps a particularly good block or when Yamaguchi makes a particularly good service. It’s in the smile that stays on that face for the entire game.

Asahi _remembers_.

* * *

They tie five times. Kei loses against the idiot 2:0, 28-30. He’s heaving and sweating and doesn’t understand why he’s so emotional over this bullshit. Wiping his face roughly with the towel he brought, he looks up to see Hinata jogging over to him, (how the hell does he still have so much energy?), stopping a meter away, the Grand king looking at them from the doors curiously.

Hinata holds out a hand with a grin, palm up. “We’re supposed to shake hands before and after a match. That’s good sportsmanship, Tsukishima.”

Kei’s eyes narrow and he frowns (pouts) at the offered hand and the owner of the limb. He feels 10 years old again, petulant at not getting his way, but still doesn’t wanna. The snorts and shaking shoulders of the Aobajohsai setter isn’t helping, either.

“Hurry up!” Hinata grumbles, then holding his free hand up to his cheek, says in a mock-whisper “Doesn’t Karasuno have any friendly players?”

He sighs, shoulders loosening “Not me.” Kei intones, being difficult just for the sake of being difficult.

Brown eyes stare at him flatly for a second and then 50kg of tiny spiker throws itself at his right hand. Kei dodges.

“W-What are you doing?!” he exclaims.

“Come on! Shake hands!” Hinata declares jumping at his hand again.

“Get away from me!”

Hinata still succeeds in getting his ‘handshake’. Kei clutches his wrist in pain, fingers splayed out. Back on the ground, Hinata looks up at him with intense eyes “Block me better next time okay?” he says impishly before thanking the 3rd years and running out the door, dragging the Seijō setter with him.

After a beat, Daiichi walks up to him “How was it?”

Kei pauses, then “It didn’t matter” his heart skips a beat “Besides, it’s not strange for commoners to lose to an elite school’s king.” He turns his head to hide whatever expression he might be making that’ll give him away.

“But considering that” he sees the captain grin toothily, eyes crinkling, from the corner of his eyes “you played pretty seriously.”

Stepping even closer to where Kei stands, he holds out his sweater. “Here.”

Kei has the swelling urge to play more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The advice part was actually something my high school volleyball coach used to make us do, like a feedback loop among the team. I had self-confidence issues so Reon's tip was actually something I had said to me by a teammate.
> 
> Ooh! Also a friend of mine asked so here's a fun fact: Ayaka is the Shiratorizawa girl who said “I always want to cheer for the underdog though” before the Shiratorizawa vs Karasuno match in canon!


	7. walking, running, learning (what is a destination?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sponsored by the Tobio Kageyama realization squad~~. Also, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this but Shōyō’s jersey number is 12! Because that’s 21 backwards which is his jackals jersey number in canon? Haha, I know, the paltry universe doesn’t deserve my level of intelligence... lol Idk, I liked it.)
> 
> Anyway, as you've seen me change the tags, this will be an Oihina fic. But because of the fact that it was originally tsukkihina, the title is "Uncertainty", so I'm considering changing it. To all of my readers who wanted that pairing I'm really sorry! If I do end up making an alternate verse where that is the pairing and you want to be notified then you can shoot me an email at almaaznotis@gmail.com? I'm really sorry again!
> 
> Also, there’s a scene in here that may sound a bit unrealistic just purely in the numbers but I assure you is something I have witnessed happen and made me want to ask the world why I was even trying. Not in a defeatist way, but it occurs to me that this fic really also serves as an outlet to how much I struggled, as a non-athletic person, all through school. I’d have to join sports teams and clubs just to keep friends and then train really hard cause being bad in a team of good makes people resent you. I just wasn’t genetically suited to physical activity and I didn’t get the point, either. It sometimes made me think how much more painful that would’ve been if I actually liked the sports I was playing. How desperately and chokingly terrible that would’ve been. I’m lucky that my strength and passion was in numbers and math hehe.
> 
> (Relating that to haikyuu, that’s the reason Shōyō is my ult, he doesn’t resent. Just plays his way, because if he isn’t catered to the world, he’ll make the world cater to him. That’s applicable in every discipline.)
> 
> Do any of you mind that I share these experiences?

The warm feeling of Shorty’s palm around his forearm felt better than it should and Tōru almost doesn’t realize that, just a few steps past crossing the threshold of the gym entrance, the spiker suddenly stops. He looks down at the orange head of hair curiously. The hand remains in place, he doesn’t move to dislodge it.

“Number 2-san? What are you doing here?” his voice is high in exhilaration and question before it dilutes in understanding. “Ehhhh! Are you setting for Karasuno now?” When Tōru looks up in the direction the words were spoken, he sees Kageyama trying badly to be unnoticed, body pressed up flat against the panel nearest to the gym window.

* * *

Only one person has ever called Tobio that. “Happy blob?”

“Happy… blob?” orange waves sway as he tilts his head in confusion.

“Ah, uhm.” he didn’t know how to justify that, calling someone a nickname without knowing them is supposed to be rude, right?

“Tobio-chan,” drawls the person he was resolutely trying to ignore “How are you on this _fine_ day?”

For a second, Tobio kinda wishes he was a cat, just so he could jump, claws out at the lofty expression and scratch it off his face. Violently. He feels tension gathering in his head.

“Did you arrive just now? Does Karasuno also have rest days on Sunday?” his vicious thought process is interrupted by lightness in front of which it seems is impossible to stay mad.

He actually arrived right as their dumb challenge match started, but Tobio doesn’t want to tell them that, for some reason. “I don’t take rest days. Isn’t it a waste of time?”

And consider Tōru’s feathers officially ruffled, although the vainglorious idiot’s team consideration may have improved, that level of blind ego could only be trumped by Ushiwaka. “Resting and skipping are two different things.” He used his free hand, the one that wasn’t grounded by the Shorty, to pull his lower eyelid down and stick out his tongue. If he had tilted is gaze to the side, he would’ve seen the guilty look on Hinata’s face.

“Dumbass.” Tōru can’t help but adding.

Tobio _knew_ that. His grandfather taught him that, he didn’t need to be insulted when it was something so obvious. He did everything to ensure his peak performance and consistent practice produced the best results. Oikawa-san was wrong. He didn’t need this crap and desperately wanted to be as hostile as possibe but dang it, he’d been thinking about going to him for advice on something.

Shōyō could practically see the testosterone rushing to flood through their bodies, and he didn’t know how to respond. His fight-or-flight, which, for him, tended to be flight-or-flight outside the court began to kick in. “Well, um. H-How do you like your t-team Number 2-san?” and after another few seconds of aggression he saw the black-haired setter relax his stance and take a quiet but deep breath.

“Good. I forgot to say it back then, but” Visibly struggling with himself, he manages a “Thank you.” That sounds like it was scraped of his tongue.

Shōyō grins really hard. There’s a pause and then Number 2-san makes an abortive gesture “Oikawa-san umm…” to which he sees the person in question start to make all sorts of childish expressions at the address, looking straight at the other setter and claiming “Stuuupid. Can’t hear you. Nope! What was that? Stupid with a stuuppid face-”

“Oikawa-san! Please listen to me for a second!” He bows all the way down. The last time he’s seen that scary-face look so earnest was when his teammates abandoned him. Shōyō removes his hand (it was still on Oikawa-san’s arm?) and tugs at the blue sleeve of the sports jacket twice. “Hey” he says as gently as possible, it’s obvious they don’t like each other and that it’s personal. “I’ll be at the bike racks, alright?” smiling for a moment at the shocked expression, he jogs in the direction of the parking lot.

* * *

“Please!” Tōru sighs. He doesn’t want to be here and he’s relatively happy that no more people than necessary don’t have to see this side of him. But- “Why should I have to listen to what my opponent has to say?” his feet turn, making to walk away, but Kageyama catches up, declaring a “Please!!!” loud enough to unsettle Tōru, all the while maintaining the bow.

Closing his eyes for a brief respite, he shifts to put a hand on his hip and run the other through his hair “Well, what do you want? I’m busy you know.” He actually wasn’t. The girlfriend between competitions, Rio? Rima? Riku? _he_ doesn’t know, had predictably dumped him when she realized how little time he could dedicate to her. His original plans for today involved sulking in his room then making a training plan with Iwa for the Miyagi Representative’s after they yelled at each other enough to get back in the game.

“What if, you were close to a tournament and uh, Iwaizumi-san said that he wanted to practice a different style of attack-”

“Hey. Quit it with the lame ‘what if’ story and just tell me flat out.” Tōru levels him with an apathetic look and can’t muster politeness; he really wants this over with.

“Tanaka-san wants to add flexibility to his hard cross, even though his game sense is useless.”

“Hmm. That’d help in a lot of scenarios. Why not let him?” He shifts his balance to the center, if Monk-Haircut could get that, the variance in Karasuno’s attacks would greatly increase. None of their spikers are adjustable at the moment. It would help remedy that weakness.

“Don’t make it sound so simple! He wouldn’t know how to use it! It’s a waste of time!”

“So you told him “Just do as I say”? You sound like a dictator.” Typical. “Have you put any thought into it? Are you giving Monk-Haircut the tosses he wants? Have you even tried to?” the hard-set expression twists up in guilt. He raises a finger to point at Kageyama’s eye-level, glaring as hard as he can. Man, if this one doesn’t piss him off. “If you’re thinking the situation is as good as it can be and getting defensive about it, you’re basically a coward. Don’t get the wrong idea… The one who has a leadership in attack isn’t you. It’s your spiker.”

Tōru begins to turn on his heel “If you can’t understand that, you’re just regressing back to playing the tyrant king.” He walks away, stewing in his anger as he makes his way to the bike racks.

He’s suddenly inexplicably glad that the Shorty didn’t go to Karasuno to make Kageyama’s journey easier. With the playstyle he saw today, the trust that was put into him, it would have transformed Kageyama’s playing far too quickly for Tōru’s liking. He’s under no delusion that he will be caught up to – their levels of natural talent are unmatched and he feels everyday like he’s underwater and trying to reach up and up but just doesn’t have the strength. Tōru’s just thankful the journey isn’t so easily achieved that it need only a matched player like Shiratorizawa’s number 12.

* * *

“Yo Shorty!” Shōyō hears Oikawa call and turns in the direction of the voice, head tilted slightly to the side “Oikawa-san.” He stays in place as the taller male walks up to his side. “Where are you going now?”

“Home” he answers and at Shōyō’s silence elaborates, gesturing at a direction, “around five to six kilometers that way.”

“That’s around where my Mom’s work is and I need to deliver something to her. We can make our way together?” he offers. Oikawa-san hums in response as Shōyō mounts his bike and begins to cycle at the other’s walking speed. Biking slowly without initial speed is difficult, though, so he quickly wheels in a circle before coming up next to the setter who hasn’t slowed or stopped his pace.

“Where does your mother work?”

“Ah it’s this company called _All-in-Us_ , they basically fulfill any request as long as it’s not illegal.” Shōyō thinks that that could sound a bit bad so continues, “I guess you could say she’s, like, a jack of all trades. One time she even had a client who asked her to cook their pet rabbit a gourmet dinner.” He giggles a bit, remembering the way she had told him the story, “But the most common jobs she gets are plumbing or maintenance stuff.” Oikawa-san’s gaze widens out, not really looking at anything.

They go a while in silence before Shōyō offers “Tsukishima was who got me into volleyball.” he gets a glance, indicating that the other’s listening, before looking straight forward “When I was young, something bad happened in my family and I spent a lot of time alone. So, one day, I needed to get out of my house and found myself at a park down here in Sendai. Tsukishima and his brother were playing on the court there.” He really doesn’t know why he’s sharing so many intimate details, “They became the first friends I had. Anyway, when I met Tsukishima again, in front of a bathroom at Sendai Gymnasium yesterday, his attitude made me really annoyed so I challenged him to this thing today.” Shōyō steers with his right hand as the other runs through his hair, looking sheepishly at his walking partner “I guess I wanted him to take responsibility for something he started. It’s a really dumb reason, huh?”

Tōru shrugs and says, if only for lack of better response “Makes sense, at least.”

A beat, then “Ohh, I’ve wanted to tell you! You’re tosses are really pretty by the way! You must have worked hard to make them so well fitted to people, for example when you made that set to your Number 4, it was like _swooooosh_ and I swear it was the best thing I’ve seen!”

 _You must have worked hard_ not _You’re so talented_. Tōru feels his lips draw out into a helpless smile. “Ah thanks, Shorty.” Then, because Tōru doesn’t know how to respond to compliments without being a dick, continues “You though, if your sets were the tipping point in a life-or-death scenario, I’d be saying goodbye to the world.”

The bike swivels as he squawks and pouts.

They continue the rest of the way with volleyball talk.

* * *

When they arrive at Tōru’s house, he sees someone approaching his door from the opposite direction as well. “Iwa!” and its strange that the part of Tōru that tends to hope his friend slash teammate would let him wallow for a day before doing their post-loss hype-up argument, is quiet. He doesn’t understand why he feels so light when normally a Shiratorizawa loss would cling to him for at least a week after. God knows that he’s always taken those losses way harder and longer than Iwa, or maybe he just deals with them much more unhealthily? Oikawa still doesn’t know which it is.

“Trashykawa.” He greets, coming up to him, face drawn and inspecting before he gives a slight nod. Iwa then turns to the Shorty with a much gentler tone. “Hello, nice to meet you. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime.” Tōru dramatically slaps a hand against his chest, feinting affront “Why aren’t you ever this nice to me?” he whines with the most stricken expression he could manage. His antics gain an eye-roll.

“Hiya! I’m Hinata Shōyō!” the Shorty declares excitedly, practically vibrating at meeting a new person. “You’re the ace for Aobajohsai right?”

“Yeah. Do you play volleyball too?”

“Yep! Spiker!” he proclaims before looking at the small timepiece on his bike, the design of the face is old and looks like something someone in their mid-years would wear, Tōru wonders where he got it from. “Ah I need to get going! My mom’s waiting for me! Thank you so much Oikawa-san!” he says before hitting breakneck speeds on his bike.

Tōru shakes his head before explaining everything to Iwa. They make a training and game plan. Oikawa eats the milk bread as dinner.

It’s delicious.

* * *

The next month feels like a home stretch that leaves every student at the school run-down shells of their former selves. Shōyō now realizes why Shiratorizawa produces the most successful Sendai graduates: testing is like an engulfing hell where every waking and even sleeping moment is overcome by studying. He thinks that Ito had a meltdown after their Japanese literature exam and that Ayaka used it as an opportunity to use the distraught guy as her own personal stress ball.

Most of his teammates don’t care though; their goal is to pass. Most of the third years already have offers lined up just to get them as players on the university team and Kenjirō-senpai is absolutely frightening when he’s focused and studying, so that’s that. They have joint practices and scrims in Tokyo during the break to look forward to as well so between mid-terms and volleyball, Shōyō feels like he’s been running on fumes. The week of rest he’ll have between the end of exams and training camp is going to be heaven.

However, as exams end, Shōyō is hit with another bout of sleeplessness, this time due to insomnia. Not to the extent of Ito – who everyone knows will probably get the best result in their class – but he’s worried about his results. It’s funny that he can barely remember what happened during the hours while he took the tests even when he racks his brain. It’s like in one of those psychological movies, everything only comes in bits and pieces. The day when exam results are posted, he runs up to the school rankings where everyone is crowded around, slips through the spaces and takes a deep breath. Shōyō narrows his vision, pointedly starting from down-up in search of his name. He tamps down the swell of his chest until he doesn’t see his name until he gets to top 15 – his requirement for maintenance of his scholarship.

_| 6 | Hinata Shōyō |_

He got 6th. Holy shit he got 6th!!! And although he _knows_ that he’d studied most of the material that were on his exams before and that he probably won’t have the same advantage next time. He can’t help but feel like he wants to cry.

Shōyō makes his way out of the tight huddle when he sees Reon-senpai walking up to the building. He knows that it’s probably not super respectful to run and throw himself up at an upperclassman but he doesn’t care. He toiled and worried and felt like his chest was collapsing before this. It’s not just a midterm score to him. It’s a reassurance. It means that he’s not useless.

“I got sixth!” he laughs “Reon-senpai I got sixth! Can you believe that?” he says, tears running down his cheeks with joyous whoops.

Ōhira wasn’t expecting a tiny spiker hanging off his neck when he left the house for school today but he isn’t opposed, even if his collar being soaked in tears.

From all of the volleyball-obsessed teammates of his, he thinks that he’s one of the few to notice things about them that the others don’t see beyond the sport. He knows, for example, that Goshiki’s family adopted a cat named Meow, courtesy of his little brother, last semester and that the kid’s phone is full of pictures of her now. He knows that when Kenjirō replaced Eita as starting setter last year, the latter spent an hour crying next to the air vents behind the school but still sucked it up and came to every practice, working himself into the ground so he could at least be a pinch server.

Just like he’s noticed those, he’s also noticed that Shōyō’s personal life includes exactly three things. Supporting his mother, looking after his sister and studying. He figures that the academic scholarship isn’t because Shōyō is particularly a genius, but because he had to and that Shiratorizawa was the best way for him to get somewhere with his family in consideration.

“You did so well, Shōyō!” he says, not bothering to restrain any of the pride or happiness in his voice, “Good job! Now you can finally get some sleep, huh?” he ribs playfully to which he gets a huff of watery breath.

Seeing as the limpet is unlikely to get down anytime soon, Ōhira sighs and wraps his arms tighter to support the dangle for a little longer.

After a few minutes Shōyō leaps off to look up at Reon-senpai with an embarrassed grin. “Sorry for getting your uniform wet.” He apologizes, “The lack of sleep actually could be getting to my brain.”

They make their way into the building together and split at the staircase. He then bows a “Thank you Reon-senpai.” and gets his fair ruffled warmly. “No problem, Shōyō.”

Later, as Shōyō’s congratulating Ito for getting 2nd, (Ha! He knew that his friend needn’t worry) it occurs to him that had he seen captain Ushijima instead, he might have died from mortification.

* * *

A week and a half later finds the Shiratorizawa volleyball team on a train to Tokyo. “When we get to the hostel, you’ll have three hours to get settled and rest before we make our way to joint practice. Today it’ll be with both Fukurōdani and Nekoma. Then we’ll scrim them and three other Tokyo teams before we make our way back home. So that’s six days in total. It’ll be 1 hour and 46 minutes until we get there so hopefully you all can pass the time alright.” Explains Saitō after they all settle down.

Tsutomu and Kenjirō argue themselves into napping for 30 minutes. Ushijima has earphones on, leaning back with his phone out the same as most of the others. Hinata talks animatedly while Satori smiles and delivers an occasional reaction to something the first year said. Saitō thinks that this is probably the most attached he’s become to a team in his admittedly limited time in the profession. Washijō probably feels like that too, even if he won’t admit it.

* * *

“Well, don’t you have an interesting player this year?” the Fukurōdani coach- Takeyuki-san intones.

“That is rather true Tanji-san. He seems left-field of your usual players. Is he a libero?” Yasufumi-san asks and Akira has had many moments where he thinks that the level of hearsay in this sport, at least in the high school circuit, is insane. Coach Washijō had never verbally said anything about his usual physical requirements, but everyone seems to know.

“No. Spiker.” And Takeyuki-san _laughs_ and Akira really, really wants him to clam it. Such little faith in someone like Hinata-kun, who works so unbelievably hard just irks him in all the wrong places.

He wants to prove him _wrong_

* * *

Shōyō looks around briefly while stretching to see the three teams gathered separately in different places around the gym.

“Hey guys I’m going to go say hi to Kenma, alright?” he hasn’t seen Kenma in person since they first met and Shōyō wants to go and talk to him.

“Try to keep it short” ribs Goshiki, just to get a reaction “like you.”

“Hey!”

“How do you guys even have anything more to talk about? You text him for hours and hours regularly.” Shirabu asks curiously, he has trouble maintaining conversations like that with his own father.

“Shush!” Yamagata says “It’s good that Shōyō is social! Go ahead, run back here when the coaches return, though.”

Shōyō pouts before grinning at Hayato-senpai and jogging up to the Nekoma team with a “Hey Kenma!”

The setter’s features melt into soft fondness at his approach, “Shōyō.”

“So, I downloaded Dishonored but I’m stuck on the Royal Physician. You know the electricity pylon that zaps you? I’ve watched a few runthroughs and they Blinked from the top of the building to the flag. But my blink doesn’t go that far so I either get electrocuted or fall to my death!” Shōyō complains, Kenma has the answer to most of his dead ends so explaining them to his friend is both cathartic and conducive.

“Hmm, I think you should probably first try some methods that don’t need an upgraded Blink. You can disactivate the pylon if you follow the wires, there’s also a guard bunker on both ends so if you Crouch on the far side the pylon won’t have the range to hit you. I’ve found that if all else fails jumping into the water is also a viable solution.” Kenma really likes Dishonored, it lived up to its hype.

“Ehhh! Kenma you’re amazing!” Shōyō exclaims, bouncing on his heels and pressing Kenma further on his runthroughs.

The rest of the Nekoma team watched the interaction in confusion, “Kuroo-san, what are they talking about?” Taketora asked “I’ve never seen Kenma that animated before.”

“Some game that recently came out. Hell if I know the details.” Kuroo shrugged.

“Are they speaking Japanese?” Shōhei asks. No one on the team has an answer, Kuroo sighs in annoyance.

When the coaches enter to stand in the doorway, Shōyō gives Kenma a quick hug before running back to his team to be noogied by Goshiki.

“All of you. Follow us outside.” The Fukurōdani coach calls.

Baffled grumbling surges at that. Outside? For indoor volleyball? A jog wouldn’t make sense given 36 people so there isn’t a conceivable reason for this.

Coach Akira stops Shōyō as he’s crossing the entrance to hold him back and once the others are out of earshot he holds his index finger to his lips, indicating quiet. Shōyō tilts his head, coach Akira tends to only stop him when he’s struggling or nervous. “Hinata-kun,” he starts off “We’ve decided that you guys should do some timed warmups together.” His eyes then glint, A shiver runs up Shōyō’s spine and he finds himself a bit intimidated; a first for coach Akira. “If you try your best and do really well. I’ll give you the gym key for the public court – the one near the International Center station for an entire week, whenever you want.” Saitō’s good friends with the manager of that gym, and he’s pretty sure a small request like that isn’t much. Hinata-kun is careful when he cleans up.

Shōyō’s body shoots up in adrenaline. That means no time limit and a Sunday practice! Holy crap. His eyes glitter up at his coach. He’s going to blow the warmup out of the water! He’s given a chuckle and a pat on the back as he makes his way to catch up to the others.

As they’re led outside, the coaches ask them to line up along the width of the two juxtaposed soccer fields, which almost feels like an endless amount of green brightened into a reflective expanse by the sun.

“So, the first part of our warmup will be a timed exercise.” coach Tanji declares into a loudspeaker, “The five checkpoints are indicated by the cones, and we’ll right down your times as you finish. You’ll be doing 15 suicides!”

Silence. Then a cacophony of protest.

“What was that? You want more?” coach Akira is grinning, “How’s 17, then?”

“17 sounds great!” crows coach Yasufumi as coach Takeyuki grins viciously in agreement.

“But coach, a soccer field is 5 times the length of a voll-”

“Oooh! I’m liking the sound of 20!”

Silence.

“Perfect! Let’s do 20! Hear for the whistle” the coaches walk off the field as people stretch and look up to the sky in supplication.

The whistle goes. Shōyō is off like a bullet.

* * *

You see, Kenma isn’t the most passionate about volleyball, or sports, or anything but video games, really, and the number of people who are in as deep as he is, even just in that dimension, with gaming are rare. When he finds someone who is, they tend to get bitter once they realize that they can’t beat him.

So he preferred to play against people who can pose a challenge, even if he’ll never know their name, face or meet them. Kenma had resigned himself to being tuned out even if he’s prodded enough to talk about a game he’s playing.

With Shōyō, that changed. Even if he’s nowhere near Kenma’s level, the head under all that orange hair isn’t bad at games, and even if he tends towards stealth or survival games, he’s okay at most other genres, too. The rapt attention as he explains something or talks about a new release is something that Kenma found himself enjoying and in return, he finds himself interested as Shōyō talks about his life, his passions, the cute puppy he saw on the way home.

The number of people whose inane thoughts Kenma is attentive enough to listen to can be counted on hand.

So even though Kenma is aware that Shōyō likes volleyball, he hadn’t really thought of how good he is at the game and what his strengths are.

Until now that is, because the way he runs is frankly so pretty. Nekoma is the one with the feline mascot but Kenma can’t help but think that Shōyō resembles the animal the most. The way his whole body stretches and contracts as he draws himself forward, toes light and legs springing. This level of athleticism was not something he expected from Shōyō, it wasn’t something he would expect of anyone.

* * *

“13 minutes and 18 seconds.” Saitō smugly states, grinning evilly at the dazed looks on the two Tokyo coaches’ faces. “Good job, Hinata-kun!” He winks. Then continues his job, sitting and waiting for the next students to finish. And that’s without the icing on the cake, where, as he gives the post-it with the time to deliver to where the coaches are sitting, Hinata-kun _bounds_ over, looking, for all the world, fresh as a daisy. The heaving breaths and running sweat is outshined by the dazzling beam of his face and Saitō will fight anyone who disagrees.

The next person who finishes is at 18 minutes and 40 seconds. All was right in the world.

* * *

Slowly the football field empties out as the exhausted high schoolers make their way back into air-conditioned haven, the 3pm sun shines after them. Ten minutes of recuperation time is given after the last person trips past the doors to collapse on the blessed polished wooden floor of the sport he chose. Because the outside world is evil.

Monitored inter-school drills are next and the number of errant balls in the first few minutes dwindle to fewer and fewer. Soon a blanket of polite conversation and excited encouragements settles over the space as the coaches concede free practice time.

“Yes!” celebrates Bokuto as Kuroo finds himself in his millionth 1v2 against the spiker and Akaashi and wonders why he keeps giving in so easily. “You’ll have more than one blocker during a game, Bokuto.” He hears Akaashi say – also, for the millionth time. Kuroo sighs, it’s good practice, after all and Bokuto is a good, if a bit blunt, opponent.

“Whoaahhhh!” he hears Kenma’s tiny friend proclaim, skidding to a halt next to Bokuto and Kuroo can practically feel the ego growth beginning to happen. “That was amazing! How did you know to do a line shot, there?”

Bokuto points up his chin, as if to flip his hair back flauntingly, by Akaashi’s reaction, Kuroo was not the only one who thought it was ridiculous. “Spiking isn't just about slamming the ball to the floor. If you keep your cool, you'll be able to see what action to take” he delivers the, admittedly, good advice with such a melodrama that no one else but Hinata takes seriously.

“That’s so smart, senpai!” and suddenly, he feels the Shiratorizawa middle blocker materialize next to him.

“Hey, why don’t you try against two blockers?” and Kuroo swears could see fire almost as red as his hair in his eyes, “Y’know, to make it fair.” He intones menacingly.

Kuroo doesn’t understand.

“Ehh, Satori senpai’s really good!” Hinata’s eyes shift to fire-man, “Ohh this’ll be so fun!” The kid backs off to the sidelines next to the scoreboard, eyes glittering comically all the way.

Akaashi sets, Bokuto runs up for a spike as Kuroo prepares to jump. He’ll probably go for a parallel shot, but- _slap_ the redhead had blocked the diagonal spike.

Well, Guess Monster was an earned title for the guy after all. Hinata claps rapidly eyes as wide as some sort of woodland creature.

“Aha! Marvel at the wonderful Satori Tendō!!!” with a head toss that manages to be even more troublesome than Bokuto’s. The spiker in question wails in misery grabbing his head and falling to his knees.

Then, he glances quickly in the direction of Hinata and Kuroo suddenly understands.

“Are they trying to… _out-senpai_ each other?” Kuroo asks aloud as Akaashi’s face dawns in realization.

“As if there weren’t enough reasons for Bokuto to act like a regency heroine” the setter mutters. They share a commiserating look. Hopefully this’ll be settled quickly.

What was supposed to be a 15-point free practice match, extends to 26-24 with a victory for the blockers.

But Bokuto takes Hinata aside for about an hour to show him how to hit a feint.

Kuroo feels the magnetic pull of his bed – the one that came into being when Hinata decided to speedrun the suicides – intensify.

* * *

They return back to Sendai on a Sunday; training hours are lengthened given the lack of classes so they’re all sent home with a promise to see each other the next day.

Shōyō heads in the direction of his mom’s office to get his bike when he sees “Tsukishima!”

The blond head turns around then looks down, “Hinata. What are you doing here?”

“Ah! we just came back from a scrim week in Tokyo. And you?”

“We’re leaving for a training camp there this afternoon. I want breakfast, so I’m here early.”

“That’s cool! Are you excited?”

“It’s just a club. Why would I be excited to dedicate a week to this?”

“You’re still maintaining that, huh?” Shōyō wonders if he could ask “What happened with Akiteru-san? Could you tell me?”

Kei’s eyes narrow, he doesn’t understand the rising urge to share. “All you need to know is that it would have been better if he gave up instead of stupidly pushing for something that was worthless.”

“So that means he kept playing but couldn’t make it on the Karasuno team? Or he couldn’t make starting lineup?”

“It’s the same thing. He wasted time and energy despite being useless. It’s too troublesome.” Kei juts out his chin, assuming the mocking disposition that pisses off the rest of his needlessly hot-blooded teammates.

“But was he having fun?” Hinata asks guilelessly. The fact that it didn’t make him puff up with anger irritates Kei.

“Why does that matter? In the end; failure is failure.”

Then Hinata has the audacity to smile. “Then it wasn’t useless.” The words are filled to the brim with enough conviction that Kei momentarily believes him. “Tsukishima. Do you know what’s better than winning?” the smile widens and eyes crinkle at the corners. “Playing.”

Then seemingly on a tangent, “Ne, do know captain Ushijima?” Ushijima? Tsukishima’s brain provides highlight reels of a frightening spiker donned in purple and white. Wakatoshi. The top 3 ace guy, the captain of Shiratorizawa. He’s the prime example of being born to be an athlete. His thoughts must have appeared on his face because Hinata continues. “He’s scary right? Even though we play with him every day, sometimes when he spikes, it feels like volleyball was made for the captain to play. But… even him-” Hinata cuts himself off and looks straight into Kei’s eyes with laser intensity.

“I think you can block him.”

Kei feels his heart still and his insides swell. Time stills for a second before he manages to propel himself out of it and scoff. But even that sounds more breathless than he’d intended.

“Still delusional, huh, Hinata?”

The grin is back “Well it does sound kind of amazing when you think about it. But I’ve played against you, remember? Back then none of us were really trying our best.” Kei really wants to deny that, he doesn’t care about the club or giving away team strengths, there was no reason for him to hold back once Hinata’s level of ability became apparent. “But I think that if you do, and if you practice; you can.”

“Exactly how empty is that sorry excuse of a brain of yours?”

“So you’re saying you can’t?” He feels his eyebrow twitch at that.

“I don’t like it when someone else tells me I can’t.” He gets out before continuing on his walk to the station.

“Good luck at the training camp!” is called after him.

* * *

School starts up again and the Miyagi Representative Playoffs follow. Shōyō asks coach Akira for the Gym keys and feels like he’s been handed the holy grail.

On the first day, they 2-0 against Araigawa High and he practices until the tiredness seeps into his muscles and his body doesn’t feel like jumping out of his skin anymore. He wants to play. The next day after their semifinals match against Kesenike West High, though, Shōyō rushes to the other field because he wants to see the result of Karasuno vs Aobajohsai in-person.

He gets there in time for the third and final match of the series.

Seijō is playing well, the timings for attacks are perfect, the defensive targeting is amazing and the players work together seamlessly. However, Shōyō knows that, today, they will lose. The three third years from Karasuno and Number 2-san are playing like it’s their last game of all time. They’re able to build leads and counter the mark-oriented playstyle that Seijō executes in their games. And after that final thump of the ball on the floor on the blue and white side of the court, it’s confirmed. Shiratorizawa will play against Karasuno tomorrow.

* * *

Tōru lies in bed, recognizing that he won’t be getting any sleep today.

Without the adrenaline of a game, people to encourage and a team to stay strong for leaves him bare; as if every single layer he’s created has been stripped. Leaving only bitterness and the notgoodenoughnevergoodenough core of his existence.

It's funny, he kept up a hope that they would be able to win at least once, just _once_ , in all of the 6 years he's been standing across from purple and white. 

He needs a walk.

12AM is an empty time for the streets of Sendai. A hush seems to have settled upon the world, leaving only the sound of his footsteps and thoughts as his feet carry him, weaving through different paths. He stops next to the public sports center near the station, his right hand comes to rest on the handle of the door entering the volleyball stadium.

He knows he’s not the best. He _knows_ , but he’d always thought that he was at least enough to go to nationals once. _No matter what tournaments you win, you’ll never be satisfied. You’ll be that annoying guy who chases volleyball forever._ Iwa’s words earlier run through his head. He tries to imagine himself at an office job, sitting in his own cubicle getting lunch with his co-workers and wonders if that would be better than the difficult track in front of him.

His hand clutches the door arm and he presses down instinctively despi- it opens. Why would it be open at 12AM at night?

He walks in, bleachers lining his path to the court on both sides, concealing most of the light. But a lamp is on somewhere, giving a muted glow to the space and he hears the tap tap of a volleyball.

Whats the Shorty doing here so late?

“Yo” he says, conscious of the echo.

“Oikawa-san? What are you doing here?” both hands grasping the sides of a volleyball, the sitting figure turns to face him

“Oh, I was just in the area” he deflects. Stretching down to pick up an errant ball, he deposits it in the cart on his way to where the small spiker is sitting.

Stopping a few inches from the spiker's toes he lets a brief silence fall over them before talking.

“We always seem to meet when I’ve lost, huh?” he remarks wryly.

A peculiar pause resonates in the air, as the neck tilts up to gaze at his new occupancy of the space. Almost as if the younger spiker is letting him digest the words he himself just said.

“Oikawa-san.” He says, voice steady and inevitable “You’re amazing.”

Tōru wasn't expecting that. He chuckles ruefully, mostly out of reflex, but with surprising honesty “Well, my record says otherwise.”

“That’s not true. You’re a great player. Your team was just as good, you improved every single time you played.”

“And yet not good enough apparently.”

The night air settles and colorful lashes flutter ephemerally, delicate as the wingbeat of a butterfly, before stilling, pointed in his direction.

“What is good enough for you?” there is a surprising stillness to the figure in front of him and in response, Tōru's words are far too true and too specific to be taken for anything other than the ugly reality that swirls in his ribcage.

“We haven’t been to nationals once. I was the captain, if I had done better, the team would’ve done better. We’ve never won a game against Shiratorizawa and Ushiwaka, no matter how close the scoreboard got. I’ve let a lot of people down. I should stop while I’m ahead, ne?”

“You gave it all you had though.” comes the response "Didn't you? That's enough for a lot of people."

“That’s what makes it worse.” he parries back "Because then, even my limits were not enough."

Orange strands sway in a silent shake of the head, the tendrils of the night weaving among the movement like even it can not part from that brightness “No. That’s what tells you that one day, you’ll blow everyone out of the water.”

"What could I do against genetics anyway?" He asserts bitterly, looking right at the spiker in front of him. “I guess I just started the race naturally behind.” 

Thats when he really looks up at him, his eyes are frozen, full, confused and that’s how Tōru knows he’s really hit the mark. He stands up so that the setter towers over him less.

“You wanna talk about naturally behind?” is voice quivers, then hardens and _ah shit,_ Tōru thinks, realizing the mistake of his comment at this person _there’s more than one person in this room who's had their sensitivity dialed up to eleven._ He can't take it back though, its what he believes. He's as good as worthless against giants like Kageyama or Ushijima.

“Look at me...” he insists, voice consuming, compelling, drawing Tōru in with the inexorability of a black hole.

He wants to look away.

“Look!" his cadence cracks, shattering straight through the middle, glass colliding into a hardwood floor "Look at all the ways I'm lacking! Look at the ways I've failed! _You_ should know what it's like to want something so much that without it, you can't live. Well I know what that is and the worst part is is that I can't achieve it. I see my future and I see myself breaking apart every day. I see myself waking up at dawn to drift among the masses of people. I see myself working a job that I can't love, can't live but continue to push myself in the hopes that maybe it'll mean something for someone I love. And- and in the end, I'll just be a human being, a human being that peaked in his teenage years and then was left to feel thankful that at the very least, he did have those happy years. I feel like I started at the bottom of the ocean with chains around my arms and legs. Do you know what that's like? It's like- like-"

"It's like I'm drowning." Tōru's lungs collapse, because it does, it does it does feel like he's underwater and never able to emerge. "And that sucks because I can't even do anything about it, I can't do anything because I don't know anything and don't have anything and can’t even pursue this fucking sport even though my heart breaks every second that I’m not on the court.”

Tōru sees the breath that racks through the narrow shoulders, the way those pupils quiver and glimmer with starlight. Tōru suddenly feels his heart melt for the person standing, back straight and face blazing, in front of so many challenges.

“But you know what? Everyone has to fight to stay on the court! Of course, it is easier for some people, but that doesn’t mean anything in the end! I'll learn to live with it. If I can't make it, if it's really not possible then I'll bite the bullet and join an amateur team, at least I'll still have _tried_. Maybe I _will_ be one of the hundreds of millions of people on this planet confined to a cubicle for the majority of my waking moments. Maybe I _will_ continue to fail until the very last second I was given on these floors. Maybe I'll fall until I can't get back up again! For now, though... _for now_ , we’re still standing and we’ll continue to stand until our legs give out!" Shōyō's hand raises, holding out the sphere of green and red swirls painted on the standard issue volleyball, body drawn up into its barest form, and there. There's where it suddenly clicks for Oikawa Tōru. It's like time stops, the air molecules in the very air around them pausing their impossibly random brownian motion to just float in that single instance of time.

"The way you look when the ball matches your fingertips is the best thing I have ever seen!” he then looks down firmly at Tōru’s shoes, the moisture that drips to the floor giving him away. The sight before him is mesmerizing in its singularity and all of the setter's attention is sucked into the compelling void that is Hinata Shōyō.

“You don’t understand” he begins to cry, a tiny little fist coming up to rub at his eyes “I have never-” _hic_ “never once met a single person who’s believed in me-”

Before he could stop himself, Tōru’s body rushes forward on its own, collecting the small frame into his arms and oh- it was even smaller than he had first imagined. Thin shoulders fold perfectly into his grasp and orange hair tickles at his palm, hiccuping breaths undulating under his embrace. The previously held out ball bounces to the ground with the gravity of an earthquake, it rebounds again and again before the sounds of its thudding become more and more frequent, shuddering to a halt.

“I love volleyball, but volleyball doesn’t love meee” Shōyō moans despairingly into his chest, surprising him into a chuckle.

They stay like that for a while and he realizes that from all everyone’s seen of Shōyō, there probably isn’t anyone else who knows this side of him. No one else could keep such a positive mentality, without an ounce of bitterness or jealousy having been through all that, he thinks.

“Oikawa-san-” the voice starts again but Tōru stops him quietly while petting through the fluffy and surprisingly soft locks of hair.

“I think you can drop the honorific.”

 _Sniff_ “Nationals isn’t your destination Oikawa. But I think you already knew that.”

And Tōru did know that. He knows that he can get better and can reach higher heights than anyone could possibly imagine. And he knows that when he gets there, there'll be _so much_ waiting to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the reason why Karasuno was able to win against Seijō without Hinata *in my opinion!!*.  
> Seijō is a good team, of course, they’re a very “complete team” (as said by the Karasuno coaches in canon), but it’s a team that was customized to contest an Ushijima loaded Shiratorizawa (given Iwaizumi as a captain and Oikawa as a setter- which is the game pacer in vball). In sports (even esports) when faced with a team led by a big carry, the way to counter that is to either: find a bigger carry, or focus on teamwork that targets the carry. Seijō fits in the latter category, so when they face against teams with more than two standout players, they suffer because targeting becomes difficult. (The fourth standout player besides Kageyama, Nishinoya and Asahi is Tsukishima because I moved up his inspiration boost to before representatives rather than before the Shiratorizawa match.) 
> 
> Although media tends to make sports out to be a cut-and-dry “teamwork vs solo talent” and teamwork wins, I think that the reason why sports is interesting is because every team’s playstyle is different and thus has weaknesses and strengths. Teamwork focused? What type of teamwork? What does the teamwork specialize in doing? Solo carry focused? Well what does the solo carry excel in and how does the rest of the team fill in the gaps? How a team responds when they’re presented with a counter to their play is what makes sports amazingly dynamic and without it we would be missing such a large human aspect in competition.
> 
> Anyway, that’s my reasoning from trying at years of torture in my country’s version of varsity volleyball and basketball (which is different because making a strategy where an entire team defends or targets a play is awful to pull off successfully). But like, it is my perspective and I can’t speak for anyone else’s experiences or approaches to the topic!!
> 
> Fun fact: This is why I gave up team sports and focused more on gymnastics in college – there’s too much strategy involved when playing with other people xD.
> 
> (Did anyone catch the NiziU and Itzy references?)


	8. Can I be there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! I have the absolute best readers! All of you have been so kind and supportive and it really gives me the warmest, fluffiest feeling when I read comments or see kudos and I just- Thank you all so so much!
> 
> Ooh! Also, this chapter took a while because I wanted to draw the last scene in the previous chapter! I’ve never done fanart or any anime style drawing before (also I drew this with my finger on a tablet – obscenely difficult btw – thus taking forever) so feedback would be appreciated, but please be kind about it?
> 
> https://horvoo.tumblr.com/post/628182438360776704/oihina-first-artwork
> 
> I posted it on my tumblr, so give me a 1-10? 
> 
> On to the chapter! (Which was, like, the biggest adventure to write)

When Shōyō walks into the changing room alongside his teammates, he knows that today, he’ll be able to watch the match without feeling his palms itch and muscles clench in an inescapable urge to move. His face flushes thinking about the _why_ of his mental state.

He puts down his bag and looks inside, absently taking stock of the contents.

“I expect you all to play as you would any match. Without holds barred.” coach Washijō breaks him out of his reverie then spins around and marches away.

Shōyō’s brain blanks for a second.

Huh. That was strange. Coach normally has more to say than that. Shōyō exchanges a confused look with Satori-senpai and shrugs.

As they make their way through to the court, his teammates notice the lack of hoodie and notepad. “You’ve finally decided to see your great and worthy Ace play?” Goshiki preens. Shōyō huffs in amusement and watches captain Ushijima ignore the daily declaration through the corners of his vision.

“Yeah,” he replies with the biggest grin he can stretch his mouth into, “I am.” Shōyō knows there is no better way to respond to that. This is proven in the next few seconds as Goshiki blushes like a heating kettle at the complement and storms out with a “Tch.” What a tsundere.

* * *

The gymnasium is washed over by the sounds of school chants and the unspecific, layered tones of conversation. Lights shone glisteningly onto the seamless wooden floors, every breath taken below the bleachers hollow and humid under the wide expanse of the court.

The players take their places as they run forward for introductions and the greeting lineup.

And as the regular roster gears up for practice sets and spikes, the rest make their way to the sidelines. There’s a deep atmosphere, one that could be passed off as the regular competitive spirit and anticipation, but if that layer is ground off, it’s a sense of bated breath. An atmosphere that feels a lot like the lull before the calamity.

Ushiwaka’s practice spike reverberates profoundly. It’s like a step up in a mental battle. It _gets_ to every witness with the fortune (misfortune?) to see it. It makes you instinctively wonder about the levels of humanity; how one person just exists in a larger reality when fundamentally all humans are supposed to be the same. The same particles, the same cells. A different finished product.

Hushed awe responds to the statement.

Akiteru came to see his brother play, to see a good game but he also finds himself thankful that it isn’t his job to block or receive or play against that frightening attack.

His eyes roam over to the rest of the Shiratorizawa team, and oh, Tsukishima didn’t tell him that Shōyō was playing for his school’s team. He was right about the lack of vertical evolution though. He looked like a baby deer among giraffes.

Shōyō sees him and gives him a wide-eyed smile accompanied by a wave, but then his face shifts into concern as if wondering if that was the right thing to do because it would probably be unwelcome if Akiteru didn’t recognize him. Akiteru chuckles and waves right back. Miyagi isn’t exactly overflowing with people with orange hair, let alone ones that played volleyball with you and your brother every week for a year straight back in middle school. It wasn’t likely that he was going to forget the kid.

‘Well, at least one of them remembered who I was without me having to jog their memory.’ Shōyō thinks to himself.

The game starts a few moments later and from the angle of the receives that the Karasuno libero settles his arms into, it’s obvious that they're struggling against the captain’s left-handedness. Which is standard for a Shiratorizawa game, anyway.

Taichi misses a serve. Shōyō braces his ears for a yelling-to from coach Washijō that doesn’t come.

8-3.

Well, the first break came about rather quickly.

When the game starts up again, though, Shōyō can’t help but focus on Tsukishima. It’s like the more helpless he feels, the more focused he becomes and his lips twitch up because that is the makings of a counter to the way Ushiwaka’s playing propagates itself. The sense of powerlessness in the face of their captain normally leads to defeatism, frustration, mistakes and it becomes apparent soon enough that the game is lost before the ball hits the ground for the last time.

That won’t be happening against Karasuno, Shōyō thinks.

Tsukishima one-touches the captain’s next spike and Shōyō expects that he’s probably jammed his finger because of it. He winces, phantom pain spreading through his own fingers. It’s an inexorable side effect of playing against their captain. He’s proven correct as the blonde-haired middle blocker returns to the court with his index wrapped. That still doesn’t take away from the fact that it was a well-timed jump anyhow. His heart leaps in encouragement. _He can do it._ Shōyō believes, brain flitting to the way Tsukishima jumped during their challenge. _If it’s Tsukishima, he can do it._

16-8. They break again and Shōyō listens to the conversation among his teammates. Still no vocal decimation from coach Washijō.

The next point Karasuno makes is interesting though and Shōyō is reminded of how purely talented Kageyama-san (hey he finally found out his name!) is. He really thought the set was going to be a spike. Nevertheless, they win game one, 25 points to Karasuno’s 16.

Game two starts with a point for Karasuno, four players running forward and it hits Shōyō how different their approach to the sport is. Especially from coach Tanji’s outlook and the playstyle he teaches them to execute.

Given an inch? Take a mile.

Points are scored by attacking.

And the last one is a surprisingly accurate summation Shōyō once overheard from another school’s coach. _Put all the eggs in the Ushiwaka basket._

Karasuno’s third point is scored because of a receive to the forehead, taken by the spiker with the shaved head.

“Hinata-kun! He stole your signature move!” Kai needles at him from the side. His fellow first-year is chortling, everyone else slowly giving into their laughter too.

“Hey!” Shōyō indignantly pouts.

* * *

Tendō blocks two spikes in a row and he can feel it in his bones. When he crouches to jump, when he reaches to spike back an attack, his body feels comfortable. Loose, as if his head and anatomy were in perfect sync. His thoughts don’t stop short or run an inch further than they need to, his muscles react in accordance within the perfect timeframe.

Lungs expanding and deflating Tendō looks up at the lights.

“I’m feeling at a 120% today!” he declares.

As they break for eight points, he walks up to the half-amused fond half-smile on Shō-kun’s face.

“Satori-senpai, what triggered your sociopath mechanism today?” he asks, eyes glittering.

Tendō beams, heartrate quieting, even as he feels his pupils shrink “Why volleyball, of course.” That’s the best thing about this team.

They retake their positions on court and Karasuno’s next point whooshes straight past his skull. The genius setter then glares at him. He feels his face shift into an off-kilter smirk.

“So that _was_ planned to just miss me. You must really hate losing?” he voices airily.

The first years of Karasuno are absolutely annoying.

This game is worlds away from last game though. They’re being matched for every single point and there’s a small piece of Tendō that feels like it’s a shame that they aren’t dominating a game when he’s feeling so good. Majorly though, he’s achieved a level of game focus that doesn’t happen often and he’d just like to savor the feeling for however longer it lasts.

They break even at 16 points and Karasuno quickly makes their 17th point with a spike directed between Yamagata and Goshiki that neither of them go for. Tendō winces.

Anndd ladies and gentlemen. Here we go.

“IT WAS YOURS, TSUTOMU! YOU IDIOT! IF YOU’RE GOING TO STARE THEN AT LEAST STARE AT A GIRL!!” coach Washijō finally blows his fuse and Tendō will admit that he would have been worried if he missed an opportunity to lambast Goshiki.

“Yes, sir!” the subject of coach’s anger straightens up and affirms. Tendō can’t help the snicker that escapes him.

* * *

Tanji feels a lot. Too much. He feels like the stakes of this series means way more than the ticket to nationals. When four members of Karasuno run up to execute their synchronized attack, he feels a headache coming right up.

“Those impertinent little- I guess things haven’t changed, even with his grandson.” He grunts, the age-old arguments they used to have flitting through his vision.

_“Always relying on the left cannon; how archaic” Ukai would scoff, flicking his head superciliously._

_“Your team is ridiculous. Everyone attacks so there’s no one left to follow up.” Tanji would sniff back, holding the urge to loudly express his indignation._

“Ah that’s right.” Akira’s voice sounds next to him, tinted in realization “Karasuno’s coach is Ukai-sensei’s grandson.”

“There’s only a certain number of things you can do with high-school teams that change every year.” Tanji says, stubborn to a fault “polishing diamonds in the best way possible is the best option.”

Akira dares to _giggle_ in response, eyes creasing at the corners happily, “But it’s different with Hinata-kun, ne?”

Tanji glares. He won’t admit out loud that he’s learned from watching the kid play with a team. He won’t admit the decades old bitterness that has been soothed by the sheer potential, determination and optimism the child (still a child, still so young) radiates from his pores.

Simple strength indeed. Hmph.

* * *

Yachi was driven to co-manage the volleyball club – still temporarily, her mother rather maintains that it’s a waste of her time – due to her admiration of Kiyoko-senpai, who was the one that insisted she come to watch the finals against Shiratorizawa.

Their twenty-second point is scored as Tsukishima-san jumps up along with Asahi-san and Kageyama-san to direct Ushiwaka’s spike right into Nishinoya-san’s extended arms. Yachi cannot believe how much this whole thing resembles the documentary about crows she had to watch for class.

“That was like mobbing:” she begins to vocalise her thoughts, compelled by the extent of similarities.

* * *

The satisfying smack of the ball and its bounce on the floor on the other side of the net blooms within Tendō.

“Victory!” he declares to the ceiling, stretching his arms up.

“No. We need two more points.” Intones their Debby downer of an ace. Tendō pouts but takes his position on the court again anyway.

He’s still jittery though. The sheer pride from pulling off a guess block is incomparable. It’s as if every single cell in his body succeeded in converging to a single moment in time.

_“You can’t just guess every time you jump!” his middle school coach had always berated him._

He tried to anyway and the title of _Guess monster_ was borne as a result. With it, though, came a cycle of good plays, but isolation from his teammates and thus a draining happiness for the sport.

_“Satori-kun is like a monster right?” Tendō had overheard. His steps had slowed to a stop._

_“That’s true! Sometimes I think that he’s possessed.” He can hear the shiver at the end of his voice. “Sooo creepy!”_

“That was a pretty impressive point, Tendō.” Reon compliments.

Tendō feels the restlessness ease. Ah. That’s right. He’s allowed to play volleyball that makes him feel good now.

Coach Washijō had said that it didn’t matter as long as he scored points.

There’s an even more frightening monster on this team to consider too.

_“Shō-kun. Aren’t I scary?” he had asked deceptively cheerful, curving his back to hunch over his much shorter teammate._

_He receives a prompt response of a rapidly nodding head._

_Well. At least in Shōyō’s case, he’s not the only one who strikes fear into that rabbit-like heart. A wry tilt of his lips prepare to form._

_Then, though, the bouncing head pauses for a second, expression going lax in thought. “Hmm. Like my soul sometimes leaves my body when you’re all like_ Wooooooo _off the court.” fingers wiggle to enhance the trashy horror movie sound effect._

_Wait. “Off the court?”_

_That’s when warm eyes catch Tendō’s own. “Well yeah. When you’re playing volleyball, you’re so excited.” His voice rises in a steady crescendo, increasing delight coloring every word. “How can that be scary? You’re super cool, Satori-senpai!” The beams of that smile slowly expand from his chest to envelop his whole body._

_The answering smile that comes to Tendō’s face was helpless._

His sight flutters into a fugitive blink before zeroing in on the ball flying across the court. He bounds it back to the other side of the net with his foot. Frowned upon move in general, but still not illegal. Tendō can’t bring himself to care. The elastic of his lungs is too contented with the oxygen that circulates through them.

* * *

Wakatoshi is, naturally, confused.

Compared to Karasuno, his team has every advantage. There should have been a snowball’s chance in hell that they could contest their victory today. They’re a point down and the 28 on the scoreboard is a barb unto his pride and his ability.

“Give them all to me.” He says, words steady, to Shirabu.

The setter nods and the next ball is tossed high up in a parabolic arc. Wakatoshi jumps up and hits it hard. The spinning sphere slams against the wood.

A hush settles over the gymnasium.

They lose the next point due to a bad receive but they’ll take it back.

His lids flutter down, shrouding his sight in a medley of flat colors. He inhales deeply through his nose and lets it out through his mouth. Yellow and navy contact Shirabu’s fingers, angled at a slightly skewed trajectory. That was a bad toss.

In the next moment, time seems to slow. Wakatoshi all-at-once is assaulted by the glistening sweat rolling down the sides of drenched copper hair, by the heaving chest, the number 10 expanding, contracting along with it and by the sheer regret in Shirabu’s angled eyebrows and shivering eyelashes. Pupils beseeching him.

Wakatoshi jumps and _hits_.

He’s blocked. The whistle screeches. They’ve lost this game.

* * *

You see. Here’s the thing. For Shirabu, being a setter isn’t about being the one who gets to make contact with the ball the most, or being a large part of pace-making plays or even the whole ‘consciousness over the court’ BS that most middle school setters used to spout. For him, being a setter is about watching an awe-inspiring attacker, like Ushiwaka, jump to trust and hit the ball that _he_ tossed. Then, as the attack lands on the other side of the court, the thought of _I did that_.

Needless to say, he does everything he can to not betray that trust. But for the first time, he did. That block was on him. That point was on him. That game was on him. It’s obvious that the blonde Karasuno first-year was looking for that exact opening. An opening he obliged. His eyebrows draw together and he feels like he’s floating. He feels like if he lands, his heart and body would shatter into a million pieces, spread as atomic particles across the court.

“Kenjiro. You’re expression tells me you already know.” Coach Tanji’s voice slowly pulls him down a bit. He wants to cry, Shirabu couldn’t have dealt with a yelling-at.

He came to Shiratorizawa to set for Ushijima-san. He wants Ushijima-san to fight his hardest and _he_ wants to be the one who frees the unnecessary clutter from that path forward.

_A body, slighter than it will be three years into the future- though still commanding the space around it like it could do nothing but - flies up and up and catapults the approaching ball against the ground._

_Shirabu, for the first time in his life,_ wanted.

_“Kenjirō-senpai,” Hinata had called. They were sitting on the ground outside their gym, bottles of water in hand. “What do you think about when you play?”_

_“Fortunately, not about how-not-to-suck at everything besides chasing the ball like a puppy on crack.” He jokes, because its true that despite his athleticism, Hinata is woefully lacking in technique, game sense and physical strength. His teammate lets out a pout and an indignant exclamation in response. Hinata is shamelessly embarrassing, but somehow still carefully respectful and poking at him to get those reactions is a breath of fresh air._

_Shirabu chuckles “I’ll toss to who wins a point.” Is what he settles on but then that’s not entirely true because- “I won’t make a mistake.” Yeah. He’s always been too sensitive about mistakes. He’s nothing special and he’s not good on his own and he knows that perfection isn’t attainable – especially for someone like him but… If. Maybe if he never made mistakes, he could mean something. To someone. He doesn’t know._

_“But mistakes are kinda,” Fingers trace up and down the condensation of the water bottle “Inevitable… no?” he asks, in confusion. Face rising to meet Shirabu’s._

_He’s intimately familiar with the fact. He knows because despite his utmost pursuit, it keeps happening. His face shifts into a breakable scowl. This is really starting to hit too close to home._

_“But Kenjirō-senpai.” The tone demands his thoughts, “You’re awesome. Everything you do is awesome. And no matter what mistakes you make, they couldn’t ever touch that because it’s just a part of Kenjirō-senpai to be the awesomest!”_

_He doesn’t agree. He’s not the “awesomest.” There will always be someone better but still, he thinks, possibly- just a small amount of possibly, Hinata could have a point._

Shirabu’s palms approach his face to slap at his cheeks. The undulating stinging brings him all the way down. He’s standing on solid ground. His mistake won’t bleed into his playing. It won’t touch the crux of his ability.

They can win the next game. They will win the next game. Shirabu won’t allow anything else.

* * *

If someone asked, Shōyō couldn’t tell you what the highlights of game 3 in the series were. All he knows is the hard sounds of sharp leather-on-skin impact, the unrelenting expressions on captain Ushijima and Kenjirō-senpai’s faces, the thudding of the ball on the ground and a final score of 17-25 right at the end.

It feels like their whole world is still reeling from Tsukishima’s block. Trapped within the brittle bubble of the Sendai Gymnasium.

Shōyō is also unbelievably impressed and if he digs a bit deeper proud. Proud of how much Tsukishima improved but also, happy that his prediction was right. There’s a part of his subconscious that’s yelling a triumphant “Booyah!” as it prances around, pleased as punch.

 _I should be a volleyball commentator_ , he thinks to himself with levity, _then the world could be blessed by my inhumanly accurate caster calls_. Shōyō can’t help the giggle, he wasn’t the most articulate when excited – which was, like, a given when volleyball is being played – so he’d bet the audiences he would cast to would spend more time being amused or confused with his onomatopoeic descriptions than paying attention to the game.

The fourth game starts off with a three-person block where it becomes obvious that Tsukishima is leading Karasuno’s defense. The crow-mascotted school scores their second point with a rather impressively directed spike from their bearded ace that Goshiki fails to receive. Shōyō notes, happily, that said third-year ace seemed to have gained a significant amount of confidence since he found him sitting outside the Karasuno gym.

“TSUTOMU! IF YOU KEEP STANDING IN HALF-ASSED PLACES YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO FOLLOW UP!” coach Washijō hollers. Shōyō wonders if the average seventy-two year old has the same lung strength as him or if their coach, in particular, is a unique case.

“Even though he’s been pretty quiet today, he’s still so harsh on only me!” Goshiki whines with sulky tears gathering at his tear ducts.

“He’s hard on you because he’s counting on you.” Ōhira-senpai reassures comfortingly.

And oh boy, stroking Goshiki’s ego will undoubtedly result in-

“Really?! LET’S GO!”

That. Shōyō huffs in laughter, glad to see his team loosen up from the oppressive atmosphere from last game. The next point is scored by an, actually pretty creative and well-executed spike from Goshiki, who followed it with declarations of how “Aces make miracles happen!”

Tanji honestly wonders sometimes about how he came to coach such bizarrely extra children.

Karasuno’s next move is another synchronized attack as four players run up to the net. Taichi blocks it, though, and Tanji can’t help but sniff. “If all of them hadn’t run up, somebody might have been able to follow up with a block.”

“Right.” Agrees Akira.

He then hears that stupidly familiar voice. “Washijō-sensei’s got a good lineup, as usual.” And hates that even among the chants and rumbling noise that fills the stadium, he can pick it out. It’s about time that old geezer arrived anyway. He steals a quick glance to where Ukai sits, behind former and current Karasuno students who stand leaning on the railing.

“The strategies of our teams are completely different, but we’re both alike in that we score points by force. It’s always been like that with Ukai; a battle between concepts.” Tanji thinks out loud. “We’re still stronger, though. For now.”

* * *

Tōru sits huddled in on himself at the backmost row of the bleachers. He really doesn’t want anyone to know that he came to watc-

“You said you wouldn’t come because it’d piss you off no matter who won” he hears Iwa’s voice remark.

His body loosens on instinct, feigning nonchalance and stretching his arms before leaning back into his seat. Tōru smirks, even as his heart rabbits a tattoo of being caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “No matter which side wins, I’m gonna be able to see the losing team’s faces when they lose.” Crap, that was way more honest than he’d wanted to reveal.

“Man, you really are a piece of crap.” His teammate- no, former teammate (and isn’t that strange that six years had ended in a single moment), drawls. Well, Iwa has always had the most exposure to his crueler side than anyone else, barring Takeru. Tōru wonders if he has any more than two layers.

“I don’t have time to sit around and feel sorry for myself.” He tacks on as he hears Iwa thump down into a seat two away from him.

* * *

When Tsukishima’s subbed back in and walks onto the court, his eyes briefly meet with Hinata’s. They sparkle in happiness at him.

Tsukishima deliberately sneers. He hates that such a talentless person could be right about anything. Despises it. Someone having so much useless faith in him is a waste of time and only proves just how dumb Hinata is.

Infuriatingly, said spiker tilts his head guilelessly. Looking, for all the world, as he had done nothing wrong. Tsukishima rearranges his face into a glare (what expression was he making before that?) and thinks at him, _I’m so much better than what I was since our shitty 2V2._ The whistle blows and the ball is in the air. Shiratorizawa runs up for a quick.

 _You’ll definitely experience that moment where you’ll get hooked on volleyball_ Bokuto had said. Tch.

The ball flies towards his waiting palm, rebounding against it to land just inside the outside line.

“Read blocking is a block that consists of restraint and persistence, but it's also.. the block where you laugh last.” Kuroo explained. Whatever.

He’s not a volleyball-obsessed idiot with a brain cell and a half. He’s not.

In his peripheral vision, he sees Daiichi-san jump alongside him, face open and eyes wide.

The world has tilted on its axis. That’s the only way Daiichi can explain the practically tangible in its differential changes to volleyball this year. Asahi and Suga both look to him. He feels their resolve and hopes and determination come unbidden. Three years of volleyball; for good or for worse reel by. They will take Shiratorizawa to game 5.

The next five points are breathlessly difficult to gain. Daiichi knows that putting in so much energy in a burst isn’t the best long-term plan. This series has already been drawn out more than anyone could expect.

But still, Yamaguchi-kun’s serves have been unbelievably on the mark, Kageyama-kun has been working so well with Suga and the team today, Noya’s receives have improved unprecedentedly throughout an _official series_ , Tanaka has become so much more adaptable with his attacks – a testament to his learning curve throughout the past few months.

And Tsukishima-kun… Tsukishima-kun is giving his absolute all today.

Their team feels like a circuit, one working at maximum battery with minimized energy losses. If their underclassmen are the current, the three of them will be their diodes and capacitor. The full-wave rectifier and smoother.

They’re so close. It’s 23 points for them and the Shiratorizawa coach calls a pause. Everyone reaches for their water bottles in tandem, exhausted. It’s clear that – from this point on – it will be a stamina battle.

* * *

“You’re lowering your elbows! You can’t hit anything like that! Use your physique to your advantage! You need to be more-more-more…” Wakatoshi hears coach Tanji yell. He’s not paying attention, though. The fact that a team like Karasuno reached 23 points before them in a game seems like the more pressing issue. No matter how he thinks about it, his team is stronger. This can’t have been possible.

“Dynamic?” coach Akira offers.

“Yes that!”

He doesn’t register any of the words that follow and Wakatoshi walks dazedly towards his water bottle. The likelihood that they go to a game 5 is unbelievable. His disorientation must have been plain on his face for the world to see as he’s brought back to focus by Hinata.

“You see it right?” the figure in front of him demands his attention, larger than life in his intensity.

Wakatoshi releases a confused grunt. A sigh of disbelief is sharply exhaled at his response.

“I didn’t realize your confidence was this unshakeable.” Hinata mutters, before focusing amber depths that envelope his corporeal form. “They’re your counter. Their playstyle directly targets the weaknesses of ours and defends against your strengths. In other words, they haven’t developed a method to their playing yet.”

A heartbeat of time falls between the cracks before Wakatoshi _understands_. The way the crows have been able to direct his attacks and bypass their defense. His shoulder blades roll back and he faces down his teammate, resolve etched into every line of his body.

“Captain. Play well.” The first-year says with a current streaming through his tone that Wakatoshi hears loud and clear. _Or else, today might be the day that you get subbed out._

Wakatoshi gives a resolute nod and is gifted with a grin that transforms that already uplifting face into something that bleeds inspiration into his heart. He crosses the threshold unto the event horizon.

Shōyō’s heart fills with the unique brand of breathless jealousy that can only be poured into his soul by captain Ushijima. Jealousy and its connotations are difficult to reconcile with this feeling, he wants Ushiwaka to soar buoyantly, tearing down obstacles before they can form completely. He wants that strength. He wants to fly above that strength. His gaze runs across his team, the team that orbits and stands strong around their ace, the ace that lets them borrow his strength and lets them play the way they want to play. His heart is grasped by the way they had let Shōyō’s volleyball meld into theirs when they play. Shōyō, who’s about as settled as a nomad roaming the steppe, the path in front of him constructed with a wide plus or minus uncertainty.

Then Shōyō looks at the Karasuno side and is hit with a wave of admiration and something else for their team. For the ever-benched attackers who bolster the humanity of their team, the dedicated genius setter, for the afraid yet brave pinch server, for the seniors who remain the unyielding backbone of the team, for the libero who is tenaciously resilient, the spiker who is fun personified and the middle blocker who grows in the face of helplessness. For the way that all of these fragmented pieces reach out to each other and connect.

Shōyō wonders, for an instant, what would have happened if he went to Karasuno instead.

The game checks-in at the volleyball equivalent of a deuce. Two twenty-fours pushing at the scoreboard. That’s when Ushiwaka collides with the ball at a particular angle, where, it’s as if the wall that jumps in front of him was simile to a waterfall in its fabric and hitting on the edge redirects the path of projectile. Shōyō’s seen Ushiwaka do this a few separate times before but… That’s definitely at least one finger dislocated for Tsukishima. A shiver crawls up Shōyō’s spine and he feels the oxygen expel from his body. The physical pain sucks, but it won’t be anything permanent – even their frightening captain can’t do that – nonetheless, having to sit out during such a high stakes match isn’t-

He briefly catches a glimpse of the bitterly livid facial features of the middle blocker as he cradles his hand and is led out to the infirmary. This, against everything, indicates to Shōyō that he’s most concerned about his team losing as he’s off the court.

Tsukishima is greeted to a quick exchange with his brother and Yachi-san as he walks out the door. Fuck, this shit is painful.

“My teammates will win, even if I leave them alone. You just have to believe that” he hears Akiteru say and his feet slow to a stop.

“You won’t have to worry about going back just to see them lose.” Kiyoko-san adds and that when Tsukishima realizes. It’s not the winning or losing that matters. He just wants to play till the end. He wants to be there with his team no matter the result. He lets out an exhale. They better be taking it to a game 5. Unless they want an unprecedented amount of shit from him for the rest of high school.

As the nurse is taping his pinky to his ring finger after splinting to immobilize it, he remembers the advice Kuroo had given him and realizes that all of this shitty pain could have been avoided if he had just shifted the angle. _“Oh, by the way. Generally, when you’re one-on-one with a spiker, line up your block with their dominant hand and not with their body.”_

Fuck his life. The anger and pain start to coagulate, though, before deflating, and for a moment, he’s a little bit thankful to the fact that the throbbing of his finger is anchoring him to the present.

When he gets back to the court, the score has climbed up to 29-30 with them a point down. He makes a beeline towards coach Ukai and flattens him with a look. “It’s my pinky and it was dislocated, relocated and is now immobilized rock hard. It’ll affect my play extremely little.”

Coach Ukai acquiesces and after they score this point to even the score, Tsukishima walks up to sub in. He thinks – with some amount of surprise – that in the end, his finger’s plight meant even less than a blip on the road. He can play. He will play and that’s that.

Shirabu can admire the tenacity of that Karasuno middle blocker, he looks completely unaffected by the ordeal. It’s like those cooking shows his mom watches, they’ll basically cut off a finger but go back to cooking as if nothing happened after mere seconds.

“Shirabu. You remember our promise, don’t you?” Ushijima comes up beside him to say and Shirabu turns towards him, body and mind practically conditioned into listening and doing before he even registers it.

_“Will you be able to use me mercilessly in any situation?” he had asked_

His head turns back to face the net. “Yes.”

Ushiwaka’s first spike is a one-touch by the injured fingers of the blondie, Shirabu gives an internal wince. That can’t have been painless. Karasuno receives it and sends back over.

Ushiwaka’s second strike is directed straight into that libero’s arms. It’s spiked back to them but Goshiki dives for it.

Ushiwaka’s third strike bounces on top of the net but the Karasuno libero gets to it anyway. Their middle blocker runs into a convincing slide hit that distracts Satori-san enough that he isn’t able to get to the baldy attacker’s hit on time.

31-30. They’ve been pushed against a corner.

Karasuno serves. Hayato makes solid contact with the ball, but he’s underestimated the spin so it goes over the net, its sent back in short order with quick spike by the bald guy that Ōhira’s forearms meet. It’s obvious that they’re not the only ones whose stamina is draining. Shirabu breathes and evaluates Ushijima and Goshiki’s conditions carefully, he steps forward to meet the ball, flutters his eyebrows in a vague glimpse and sends the feasibly highest toss he can to the right side of the court where Ushijima’s already jumping for a straight. Right into a three-man block. That he changes last second into a cross that’s unbelievably awkwardly received by their ace but still caught before it hits the ground by the captain. Four people jump for a spike.

The silver-haired setter dumps it. The same setter who looked as if his heart broke every time the ball was so much as nudged in his direction.

They’ve been taken to a game 5. In the Miyagi representative playoffs.

The stadium roars.

* * *

Tanji sees it. He sees it when Karasuno recklessly adopts new playstyles and changes their objectives in the middle of a rally. When Ushijima starts to creatively vary his attacks and each of them are blocked or countered. When tremors run through the ace’s legs every now and again. Every ball Ushijima sends across the net is given back by a member of Karasuno.

A western quote comes unbidden to his thoughts. _The oak fought the wind and was broken, the willow bent when it must and survived._

The stadium lights blink down at him, he can feel Ukai’s smirk bearing down on the side of his face and he takes in the sight of his team.

He looks at the small figure swinging his legs back and forth on the bench and all he can see is himself. And yet- Tanji tilts his head at Ushijima, who follows his coach’s line of vision before relaxing his posture to slump, exhausted, against the bench; Atlas permitted to set down the heavens.

His blood runs slow with the deflation of his chest.

“Hinata. You’ll start next game.” Eleven pairs shoot towards Ushijima before widening at him. Good. They know what he meant, then. The tension his words create shoot up to borderline visible in the atmosphere around them. “Otherwise, regular lineup. That’s all.” The wrinkles on his face deepen enough to cramp before flattening out completely.

He has a good team. Karasuno will have a completely new set of issues to deal with, now, too. That nearly draws a smirk from him. Besides, it gives them an edge in stamina. Hinata, with his current abilities, was practically made for a situation like this.

The wing spiker in question’s irises are shivering, so many emotions flooding into the dips and swells of his face that Tanji's not entirely certain that his heart isn’t breaking.

“Shō-chan!” He hears Tendō say insistently, voice low and gesturing everyone to listen to whatever he’s planning to say. “When we play. Everyone will be paying all of their attention to you. Don’t waste it, okay?” he finishes off playfully. Ah. Getting Hinata to decoy is a strategy they’ve experimented with in practice before.

It’s funny, Tanji thinks, that a completely unknown factor like Hinata could blend so seamlessly with these kids who’ve all existed in the same circles since their years in elementary. Finding so much potential in a player at the high-school level is rare and he wonders how many people will be caught utterly surprised because of it.

When the whistle blows to retake places on the court, a hush falls. The world seems to hold its breath.

* * *

Shōyō has never experienced the feeling of wanting to do well, to _perform_ , so powerfully before. His hands are clammy, he even looks at captain Ushijima pleadingly for a few seconds without understanding what he wants. For him to declare that it was a mistake and that he should be the one playing instead? For him to look at him with anger, to intimidate him into doing well? After all, the fact is that he’s a worse player than Ushijima is. The specific circumstances of the current game state is the only reason he’s standing right now instead of sitting on a bench. He’s untested. Uncertain.

In the end, he gets an intense gaze, coupled with a faint fold at the end of the captain’s lips that wouldn’t be a smile by anyone else’s standards but is practically a wide grin from Ushijima. He feels his chest flush. His teammates believe in him. His captain believes in him. His coaches believe in him.

His legs settle into a wide stance. He’s starting front-center.

He meets the eyes of everyone across the court. He feels like the entire world has been zoomed into him. Good. _Look at me more._ he demands. Shōyō isn’t a player on the same level as his teammates. He’s a good player but not a great one, but he can create the pathway for the great players on his team. _I’ll be the greatest decoy!_

Goshiki serves, Karasuno receives then spikes it to the back-left where Goshiki contacts the ball again. Kenjirō-senpai steps twice to set it. Shōyō’s success rate at hitting a ball past blockers from that angle is low. So, the toss will go to Kawanishi-senpai he’s just gotta make it convincing.

Shōyō jogs back a few steps before making up the distance with a single leap to gain momentum. Blockers run to meet him

He bends his knees, arms extended backward before spreading them out, body anticipating the feeling of being suspended in air.

He _soars_.

* * *

“He’s flying…” Yachi hears Takinoue-san and Shimada-san breathe in awe. She thinks so too and although she wants to look at the expressions on their faces, it feels impossible to tear away from the mesmerizing sight that is Shiratorizawa’s number 12. The other Shiratorizawa spiker scores a point and as he lands, graceful as a bird, Yachi feels like the world has been tilted on its axis.

Finally glancing from the side of her left eye, she sees Akiteru-san’s sparkling eyes, breathing suspended in time. Then when she looks back at the court, she sees something unexpected.

The Shiratorizawa team, who had so far seemed to be slightly off-kilter in their intensity, gathered around the small spiker to ruffle his hair or give him a pat on the back, all of them smiling warmly at the redhead’s own sunshine-like beam.

Their next few points are scored with such seamless teamwork that it’s fascinating just how much a playstyle can change with the substitution of a single player. Overall, the team probably isn’t as strong as it was when Ushijima was playing but- but it’s like everything from that orange spiker’s existence; demeanor to tenacity to attitude to skills seem to enhance the existing ones of his teammates. The flexibility a person like that offers to a roster like Shiratorizawa who all have amazing strengths is a hard counter to their own team’s all-in playstyle. It basically allows the team to bolster each other to do more with their abilities.

Which, oh my god. “Wait. Eagles fly in flocks with other eagles.” man, is there ever going to be a shortage of animal metaphors? “So, they get inspired by each other to be better. It’s like the one, large eagle from before split into six.” She sounds delusional, but the fact that it’s so applicable is just- yeah.

She finally manages to observe coach Ukai to check his reaction. It could only be described as utterly discombobulated.

Turning her head back, she watches the ex-coach Ukai, as well, and finds a glimmering expression. He looks like he just won the lottery. Not for something finite like money, though. More like a lottery of life.

She sees the defiance edged into every curve and corner of that number 12’s body, and thinks that- maybe, she could convince her mother and stay in the volleyball club.

Yachi cannot help the exasperated hand she runs through the tips of her hair, twisting thin locks into the spaces in between her fingers.

Well, this whole experience is going to leave one permanent mark onto her life, for sure. Volleyball will now forever be her favorite spectator sport.

* * *

“What the hell?!” Tōru had burst out, Iwa’s equally affronted tone amplifying his own. Then a minute later.

“What the hell.” “Holy shit.” Their words overlapped.

“Have you seen this playstyle from any Shiratorizawa roster, ever?” Iwa asked.

“Have you ever thought you’d see Ushiwaka on the _bench_?” Tōru counters.

The spiker flops back into his seat. “Wait, the short one. Isn’t he the guy who you helped in that challenge against Tsukishima? Hi-Hinata something? You didn’t say he played for Shiratorizawa.”

“Yeah, Shōyō. I didn’t think it was important!”

“With a jump like that?”

Tōru grouches. “I didn’t know that he could do _that_!” Which is true. Hearing _331cm_ is not the same as seeing it from someone that short. Iwa snorts.

“That must have been some 2v2 then, huh?”

“Actually… it was more fun than I expected. Obviously Shōyō was holding back, but so was I and the two Karasuno guys. It was an inter-school thing, of course we wouldn’t give all our tricks away!” Tōru knows his tone has bled into supercilious now.

“You never know when it comes to you.” Fair, Tōru was on the impulsive side, but still.

He watches as Shōyō receives a ball that, frankly looked nigh impossible to save, with his face for the third time so far. Man, he really needed to work on those. Then during the next rally, feints before setting to Fire-head who spikes it down.

Tōru’s mesmerized and doesn’t quite understand why. The spiker sucks compared to himself in terms of technique, game-sense and power, even more compared to the likes of Ushijima and Kageyama. So why is it that his heart catches in his throat with every ball sent in the direction of that flitting figure. He’s seen others like him too. That white-haired spiker with overdone manliner who also plays terrifyingly despite his height, and with far greater skill than Shōyō, for example.

 _I want to play against him._ the idea pushes to the forefront of his thoughts. _I want to toss to him. I want to see how he grows._ The volleyball he’s been presented with is the manifestation of freedom.

“Goddamnit.” Tōru pouts, waits for Iwa to glance at him questioningly. “The one thing that we could do that Shiratorizawa couldn’t. Out the window. What even was the point of training a tandem playstyle.”

Iwa huffs. “If it’s any consolation, though. They’ve only shown to play like this with a benched Ushiwaka. Besides, he looked like he’s lost a lot of energy as well. That playstyle probably wasn’t the only reason for the sub.”

“Why weren’t we ever able to tire him out?” He petulantly grumbles. “Ugh. Couldn’t Kageyama have broken his wrist last year?”

“You’re complete trash.” Iwa asserts.

* * *

At first, Kei didn’t understand why Hinata had taken Ushijima’s place. It’s the fifth game in the series, and surely, substituting a weaker player was asking for a loss.

Then, during a rally, he sees it. He realizes how much of a tougher time they’re having now that Ushiwaka was on the sidelines. Karasuno had prepared for a team carried by a giant, the steady and unwavering strength of the champion Shiratorizawa. Not the unpredictability of a team filled with outstanding players who invent strategies on the fly.

If previously, the eagles had a leading force, now there are six of them that are playing exactly as their own individual approaches dictate. However, without the disadvantage of disorganization, because they have a pacemaker who fills in the holes left by the independent actions of everyone else on his team. Leading a defense, Kei finds, is much more difficult when they don’t know what to expect because even their opponents don’t know what they’re doing.

He blocks a spike from Hinata for the second time so far, watching as the frustration and admiration bloom more pronouncedly in the way he plays. Kei’s mouth has been permanently set into a smirk. Without the level of the team that backs him, the orange-haired wing spiker isn’t the most useful. But given a team with one or more players brimming with ego and natural talent, Hinata seems to be exactly what the doctor ordered. Annoying. He doesn’t want to think about how many of Kageyama’s issues could and would have been solved if he had come to Karasuno instead.

It’s just as well though, Kei thinks, he’s been in the school volleyball community since his primary years and thus has seen, first hand, how untouchable the powerhouse schools think they are. How incontestable they feel because they were born taller, stronger, faster, more skilled than everyone else. To the point where everyone who’s remained to play in senior high are all some variant of a Kageyama, Ushiwaka, Bokuto or even Oikawa. He wonders how many preconceptions and world views Hinata has changed, just by getting onto a team like Shiratorizawa, just by playing a game on a stage like Sendai Arena.

When his gaze runs over the absolutely confused and incensed expression on his majesty’s face, he realizes the extent of the impact of the little spiker would be on the personal level of all these volleylosers will be.

(Kei knows he sort of counts as one of those, now, given his stupid brain’s resolution to play out this entire game with everything he’s got. But like, he doesn’t have the same cockiness, alright? When he’s BM, he’s BM-ing on purpose, not because that’s his default setting.)

“One, two, three!” he counts to jump block, with Daichi and Asahi, a cross shot by that fucking troll of a firetruck-haired middle blocker.

“Ne, Satori-senpai. You’re super tilting to play against, you know?” he hears Hinata's fond voice. Thank fuck, that someone can just voice it out casually. The empathy in that tone, actually, really takes the sting out of that middle-blockers existence.

That reminds him, Akiteru’s probably having a goddamn hoot watching Hinata play again.

The next spike by Hinata was practically unblockable given that the setter tossed it to the other side of the net, where the short spiker had basically teleported to, to spike it down.

“Hey you! Where have you been for the last three years.” He hears their king demand, as if decreeing war. No fucking tact, that guy. He doesn’t even realize that his words will be taken in the worst way possible.

Awesome. They’re now at the receiving end of a collective death glare by the entire rest of the Shiratorizawa team. Outstanding job, Kageyama. Doin’ real great there, buddy.

Then, Hinata’s head tilts slightly to the side. That previously bright face smooths out, a bare hint of an eerily distant yet piercing smile playing at the corners of his lips. Shadows play across his face and hair, pupils perfectly circular, predatory.

“Does that matter?” he states more than asks, tone point-blank and immovable. A shiver racks up Kei’s spine. If anyone thought, personality-wise that Hinata didn’t fit the gossamer intimidation of Shiratorizawa, those thoughts were certainly dashed in the last few seconds.

Strangely enough, though, that expression makes him want to try harder. And from the widening stances of his teammates as well as the infuriated expression on Kageyama’s face, they feel the same.

So they play. Kei jumps and blocks and spikes and receives. He watches as Hinata starts to think more and more before acting. Starts to receive less and less with body parts that aren’t his arms. They break even at ten points and coach Ukai calls a break.

“Asahi-san?” he hears Kageyama call. “Can you hit a really high toss?”

“What do you mean?” their ace asks kindly, their third years really do have an endless amount of tolerance for their bullshit.

“I’m going to hit the toss to peak as close to the ceiling as I can so that you can decide at what height you want to hit it.” Which, in theory, sounds like a good idea but they’ve never practiced it so. Kei sighs. If they can get it to work, once, that’s probably good enough to score a rally.

“Tsukishima-kun, how’s your finger?” Sugawara asks.

“Fine.” He responds automatically, before opening up awareness of his right hand.

And that’s when Kei realizes. His finger hasn’t been stressed at all since last game. Flashes of Hinata’s spikes run through his memory. Every single one of them have been clearly avoiding his hands. Conflict rises up through his chest.

Is Hinata still not going all out against him? But no, those jumps and those spikes, when he blocks them, he feels the heart and soul that was put into the ball. A lack of creativity? He doesn’t want to spike through? But that’s not it either, he’s seen the way he’s used the net to redirect the trajectory of his hits. So then, why?

When they walk back, every step Kei takes hardens his resolve in the way he wants to play this game.

* * *

They reach match point. Tanji sees the scoreboard before his eyes fix on Hinata. He watches as he runs up to increase the momentum of his jump. Sees the extra strain his legs and body have to exert just to reach the same level of those surrounding him.

Tanji knows, that if he wants to pursue volleyball, there will be more and more obstacles that stand in his way. Knows, that at a certain point, even a centimeter’s difference can mean the difference between a game. Knows that even the comparatively towering players in this gym aren’t anywhere near the average height for players from western countries.

That’s the worst part. He still believes. Tanji’s enduring heart has decided to take the gamble this time. Intuitively, logically, he knows that disappointment is far likelier than success, here. But in his heart, he refuses to believe that this little bird, who has only begun to take off, will fall.

The air around that figure swirls as tendons and muscles and time push-pull.

_I want you to fly. Hinata Shōyō!_

* * *

Volleyball is a sport of height. It is an absolute that tall players are strong. Strengthening each player is a strength, but… so is finding a new way to fight. That’s exactly why there are so many different attacks and defenses today. There are truly various kinds of strengths.

The great coach Arie Selinger once said, ‘There is no reason to believe that there will be no development or changes in the future.’

The ball hits the ground.

Silence.

The stadium explodes.

His eyes meet with coach Washijō’s sparkling ones. Years pass within that moment.

Ukai’s eyes close into a smile. He’s never seen Tanji look like that before.

* * *

Shōyō has played his first game. Has won his first game.

He’s still just as shit as he always was but he won his first game! They’re going to nationals!

He gets to stay on the court!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inversion of what Washijō says in canon “I want to deny you. Karasuno’s #10!” 
> 
> I watched and read the canon Shiratorizawa vs Karasuno match many many times to write this chapter. I took notes on every discernable point and then analyzed (what I call) the cost-benefit of each player towards the result of the game. Then changed the points scored in the games accordingly, thinking of what the Karasuno coaches would do given the lack of Shōyō on the roster. I evaluated an anime game series like I would an actual high stakes series that I or a friend of mine had played in and lost. I don’t know if I’m proud of myself or should be wondering what went wrong in my life? Nevertheless; that happened. 
> 
> Hopefully y’all can follow the reasoning behind every point, if you’re interested in that? If you can’t be bothered, hopefully the character interactions and flashbacks were engaging enough? 
> 
> Shōyō got to play an official game! Woot!
> 
> My love for Oihina started when Oikawa said “I guess [Shōyō’s] a spiker you just end up wanting to toss to.”
> 
> (this chapter was titled ‘flashback festival’ in my docs lmao)
> 
> Also holy crap how did it end up being 8k words????
> 
> (I'll answer all your comments from last chapter later today!)


	9. the interim, the lull of the storm (or whatever poetic emotional crap you want to call it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After about fifty thousand years, I have come back with a new upload!
> 
> I'll explain my reasons in the following paragraph so if you're not interested and just want to read stuff I have to say about the story, please skip to the paragraphs below! 
> 
> After lots of deliberation and a ton of reorganizing, I have made the decision to go to grad school. I was working a job in an industry that I liked but I felt like it got to a point where a master's degree was the only way to go further. Going back to school has been eventful and busy for me, so although I am NOT(!) abandoning this story, I only really have time to write and edit and update it during breaks and that's just been hard to manage. I'm really sorry to all of you that you'll be waiting longer for chapters. I hope it is some consolation that they will be much longer chapters to make up for this.
> 
> Anywho! This is 12k words! What the hell, how did it get this long?? I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's been leaving me comments and kudos and that really has been lifting me up these past few months and inspiring me a lot. I will answer them all within the next few days! The support I've been getting is mind boggling to me!
> 
> Also keep in mind that this fic is set in 2013, like in canon lol.
> 
> On to the chapter!

Shōyō stumbles his way to the bathroom, stomach churning and heart fluttering from the win, he slumps over the sink, splashing his face with cold water. When he re-emerges, head tilting up to his reflection, he meets the stony gaze of Tsukishima.

His cognitive capacity takes a while to process the identity of the blonde middle blocker. But once it does, the medal around his neck feels like it weighs about the mass of his backpack during exam season. His mouth kickstarts way before his brain has time to process any potential scenarios. Shōyō looks right into Tsukishima’s eyes, reflected by the mirror.

“You’re a better player than me.”

Tsukishima’s expression locks, eyes narrowing and lip curling. “We lost.”

“Because our coach has more experience than yours. Because we have more individually practiced players who’ve been through this before than your team does. Because you guys came in expecting one thing but were given a complete curveball that you weren’t ready for.”

“Does that matter? A loss is still a loss.” That’s when Shōyō remembers the fiercely proud expression that set onto the Karasuno coach’s face at the end of their series, right before they had to leave the gym. He’s probably the one who knows best just how impressively his team had performed and how far they had gotten, who has figured out what Shōyō and everyone who knows coach Washijō realized when Ushijima was substituted out. He’ll leave that to the younger Ukai to explain to his team; it’s not Shōyō’s place. Karasuno did obtain a sort of victory today.

“Is it, though?” Shōyō’s concedes this little match and he breaks contact, eyes fluttering closed, face inclining downwards as his mouth extends into a small smile. “You guys did so much more than lose three games, today.”

Shōyō looks up to the side, gaze focusing on the taller’s profile. He feels his jaw loosen to show teeth, cheeks lift and tighten, dimples forming below the apple, into an all-out smile. His face couldn’t help it. “Your volleyball really inspired me, Tsukishima. It was unbelievably cool.” He sees the determinedly set features quiver. Shōyō’s head bounces up and down one in a buoyant nod. “But next time, I’ll surpass you! So you better be even cooler than you were today!”

Kei swivels his head towards Hinata at those words, receiving direct exposure to that deadly expression. An expression that, despite his resolve, blooms warmth and sparks in his chest where just previously hollow self-criticism had inexorably grasped. He finds himself softening, against the bitterness and envy that his conscious wants to painfully, possessively keep. The hatred he wants those emotions to fester into because surely, surely, that’s better than the vulnerability that comes with forgiveness, the loss of pride that trails behind hope.

He forces a scoff through his lips, even as uncharacteristic excitement tingles through his limbs. Playing volleyball against Hinata had been _fun_. He had seen it in every person who had stood on that court today. Fuck. The loss is now practically impossible to resent anywhere near as long as he’d wanted to.

Next time, huh?

“I await with bated breath for you to grow the full thirty centimeters in a year.” Kei floods his voice with a hefty amount of sarcasm as he holds one hand, flat and palm down, at Hinata’s height and the other at his own. Presenting the resulting vertical difference with a flourish at the orange-haired spiker’s eye level. He gets a pout for his efforts.

“ _I’ll_ be the one blocking _you_ next time!” he declares, sniffing in indignation.

“Yeah, yeah. Later, Hinata.” Kei turns to take his leave. Chest open and shoulders lighter.

* * *

Conversation flows freely through the space around them, the words exchanged containing the contrasting tones characteristic of a team filled with strange teenage personalities. Akira chuffs fondly as he watches from the vantage point at his table with coach Washijō. They rarely eat out after games, but after a series like that, the kids deserved it.

“As your shining star of an Ace, allow me to pour you some water!” Tsutomu pokes good-naturedly at Shirabu. Vaguely feeling the what was supposed to be a smirk but is actually a grin on his face, eye trained on the side profile of the second year; he wants to be acknowledged by the setter more than he will ever admit out loud. He puts down the beaker of water before falling back dramatically, miming a sword to the chest when his declaration is ignored. Knowing their dynamic, it’s to be expected, but Tsutomu’s heart still pulses painfully once.

A few minutes later, though, Shirabu puts a few pieces of meat onto his plate and leans close enough that no one else would hear his words. “You did well. Keep trying hard.” Before he jerks back as if burned, pointedly not looking in his direction.

Shōyō sees the helplessly happy look on Goshiki’s face and can’t help but shake his head fondly. Everyone on this team was so fragile, held together by spiderwebs of silk, painstakingly woven and repaired as they’re broken – different after each rupture, stronger, more beautiful. Yet more fearful too.

“I’m going to get some air” he says, flashing a smile before shrugging on his shoes and walking out to sit on the bench outside the izakaya.

Shōyō takes a shuddering breath, body opening its doors to the world around him.

The stars shined, the moon watched, time stood still and the muffled conversations from the other side of the door shuffling forward to graze at his hearing. Just on the edge between cool and cold, the air wrapped around his fingers, meeting his body temperature only to push it slightly below. Shōyō leans back, absorbs the rustling leaves, individual intrrument sounds ephemeral yet the orchestra eternal, the slight and elegant movements of a cat, exploring a world much wider than it knows.

“Shō-kun” Satori calls smilingly as he places himself carefully on the bench next to said teammate. Shōyō was a study in contradictions. Endlessly shifting, jumping, flying when in motion; sunlight manifested, flitting and elusive.

In stillness though, it felt as if the universe itself bent in its path to surround the lull that was his teammate, as if everything was laid bare to the unadulterated acceptance he had for it.

“Satori-senpai” he responded, pupils locking onto him as they expanded to focus in the low lighting.

“Didn’t I seem even taller on the court?” he asks, voice a sheer coating of insincerity to the desperate quality of the words underneath. Satori knows he’s fishing to be thanked, praised, complimented. He’d tried so hard today, because Shō had been with him on that stage and he’d wanted his debut to go as smoothly as possible. Victory was practically guaranteed the minute coach Washijō had put Shō in the game, there was no way anyone on the team would have accepted anything else for their shortest player’s first official match.

His teammate pauses to give proper though to his words. Satori thinks that’s the scariest part of Shōyō – he doesn’t need and wouldn’t use the manipulative tricks that the third year had learned from numerous psychology books to just _see_ through you. Talking to Shōyō is like learning that you could already do everything you’ve set out your entire life for all along. “It’s different when we’re playing together, I think. Because every time, I saw you, or even glimpsed you, I just felt like ‘since it’s Satori-senpai, there’s no way the ball will hit the floor,’ you know?” Shō pauses, but then his eyes shine brightly at him with the light of the moon gleaming though his irises, piercing. “Playing with you, my heart felt so happy that it could explode!”

Satori then needed a moment to regain his bearings because sometimes this person just destroyed people. “Did you want MVP?”

This question received an instant response. “No. I think captain Ushijima deserved it. He did contribute the most to us winning the series, after all. I just- I wish I could get up on his level. Or even on Tsukishima or Kageyama or your level, Satori-senpai. I realized a lot more about how much I have to improve on, today and it makes me want to try even harder so that I can deserve to be there with you all.”

See, that’s the sucky thing. Shōyō lifted others up so fully and kindly, but when you were allowed close enough to receive a fractal of his insecure humanity, the desire to lock him up in a safe room so that the shitty world couldn’t hurt him anymore began to look like the only solution. When faced with the, admittedly extremely harsh, criticisms towards his height, his inexperience, his ability, Shō would squawk and laugh and ignore. Satori knew, though, that every single one of those sharp words were internalized, were put away in the moment to examine and be absorbed later.

Shō wasn’t so strong as to be uncaring of what others thought. He was stronger in that he was able to rise above the pains and the despair that were wrought upon him despite receiving them in their full intensity.

Satori himself knew how far he dug into Shō’s weakness when he pushed him into trying out that first day they met. The hesitance and the defeated slant of his eyes said everything about how deeply the first year felt about volleyball. Combined with their coach’s outlook, this was the perfect emotional storm in the making. So, Satori poked and prodded and coerced, wanting to see more hurt. He’d always taken pleasure in Schadenfreude.

It’s selfish that he can’t bring himself to regret it, even when he knew how much this dumb sport has multiplied Shō’s struggles.

“You were the right choice today.” They both turn sharply to see the source of the interruption. Ushijima stands there with a level look directed at Shō. “But the next time I’m put on the court, I’ll make sure that I will never leave it again. So prove that you’ll continue to be the right choice tomorrow, and the week after that, and the month after that and the year after that.” The ace’s eyelids weigh down to close for many moments. “That’s all.” He turns to leave.

“He’s a guy people make documentaries about, ne?” Satori can’t help but say, he’s thought it many many times.

“Yeah. He’s always been the strongest, right?” Shō answers before jumping up to stretch, liveliness returned to his frame. “Ah well, hopefully we’ll get to be mentioned as side characters when that happens.” The figure in front of him curves his lower back to an alarming degree before bouncing terrifyingly lightly on his toes a few times.

“You coming?” he asks as his hand grazes the fabric of the curtained entrance to the restaurant.

It’s right then that Satori realizes, in the silhouette of Shōyō Hinata’s body, that although Ushijima is the type documentaries are made after, Shō’s the type movies will be made about.

“Duh, Shō-kun. I want more beef.” Satori thinks a bit to himself “And to put a dent in coach Washijō’s wallet.” The laugh he gets in response tinkles like bells.

* * *

Ukai looks at this team. His underdog team that got to finals. This roster that pushed for their redemptive journey. Hours and hours of sweat and shivering legs and determined faces flash through his mind like a reel.

He looks at his team. “You guys,” he starts, voice thankfully gaining traction and volume upon his first syllable, “were goddamn awesome up there.”

Their breaths hitch so synchronously he has to breath out a laugh. He then nods towards the five that came to support them today. “Takinoe, Shimada, Saeko, Yachi, Akiteru. Thank you so much for supporting these guys today, your cheers were uplifting for everybody here.” He grins softy at them, before turning back to the players. Having someone you know, who supports you in a crowd is more impactful than most people realize.

Ukai them turns to his team as Takeda smiles in his peripheral vision. “Yamaguchi, your confidence when you played today was remarkable.” Takeda’s eyes begin to crinkle at his side. “Suga, you’ve finally stopped holding yourself back. Asahi, your ace position was truly deserved. Daiichi, there couldn’t have been a better captain, you were the backbone of the team. Tanaka, I hadn’t even thought it was possible to improve the way you did in such a short time. Ennoshita you came in clutch; you were there for everybody. Kinoshita, the way you raised up your teammates was heartwarming to see. Nishinoya, you shined so brighter than all the stars in the sky on that stage. Kageyama, you were a fantastically considerate team player today. Narita, we couldn’t have made it to the fifth game without you. Tsukishima…” he takes a breath “if we had officially won, you would have been the MVP today.”

The many pairs of eyes in front of him begin to shine and sparkle.

“You all may not know this, but, Karasuno and Shiratorizawa used to have a rivalry that’d lasted for longer than a decade and still isn’t entirely dead.” Ukai starts, needing to show them how much they’ve won today. “Their coach, Washijō-sensei, and my grandfather have always had opposing views on the sport and ended up butting heads incredibly often because of it. Washijō-sensei values simple strength above all while my grandfather, and now me, liked to build team synergy.” A chuckle helplessly bubbles up his throat. “Not that any of you brats made that easy. Anyway, despite how strict he is and the moniker ‘Demon Coach’ that you’ve probably heard tossed around in your time around the competitive school volleyball circuit, he actually cares a lot about the sport. He’s notorious for choosing people who have the physical traits that are practically primed for athletics and to dominate in volleyball. It’s a very carry-focused playstyle that relies heavily on individual strength. These beliefs were what made Shiratorizawa into a champion team, but… It’s never changed more because it was personal. Not because he didn’t want to jostle a working machine.”

Various forms of confusion ripple through his audience. Ukai huffs.

“Despite his love for volleyball, Washijō-sensei was never allowed to play. He lacked the height, and so could only watch as his taller, stronger teammates played, from the sidelines. I think that’s why he’s been trying so hard to make a superteam with every roster he’s been given.” Here’ he can’t help but flush in pride, heart thudding in anticipation of his next words. “Today, though, he substituted in a short player, an attacking player who’s probably the smallest in the senior high competitive. All because you guys were good enough that he had to concede his entire approach.”

His heart swelled as he greedily soaked up the sight of how passionate this group of, Jesus Christ, still high-schoolers were.

“You _changed_ someone’s perspective when you played on the court today. With your passion and your love.” He felt the struggles and the trials and the obstacles of everybody wash over him in a single moment.

“So congratulations! We may have lost, but we still took down the reigning champions today!” a lump lodges itself right below his voice box. “From now, with every step forward, aim for victory! Remember that even when you fall, if you can laugh, or cry, or feel, that that means it isn’t failure. Make friends, not enemies, and by the end, when you can see your reflection in the faces from the other side of the court… That’s how you know, you’ve truly won.”

He hears the emotionally stunted teenagers’ wails of his name and variations of ‘You can’t just say stuff like that!’ and ‘Ahh, you’re too deep for usss!’

Ukai grins at them. “We’ll get ‘em next time!” and is promptly tackled by many many kilograms of high schoolers.

* * *

Their loss against Fukurōdani stung. Kenma doesn’t like the way it stings more than he expected it to. They’re a powerhouse school, the favorites to win the tournament. There is no way that Nekoma could have claimed that series.

But a 2:0? Really?

He mutters a quiet _shit_ , flinching before huddling further into his blanket and pushing himself more firmly into the corner walls of the changing room.

His phone vibrates softly. Shōyō’s name flashing on his screen.

 _I was subbed in for Ushijima today!_ is the message. That’s unexpected. An utterly unpredictable turn of events. He quickly looks up at the time in the corner of his screen. Kenma has around twelve minutes before someone calls him to prepare for their next match against Nohebi, which is gonna suck so hard.

He really wants to know what happened. But he can’t afford to be distracted.

Kenma deliberates this for two seconds. _Fuck it_. His attitude is shot anyway and this is _Shōyō_. Thumb tapping the call button, he hears the consequent drawn out boops through his earphones.

 _“Kenma!”_ exclaims the cheerful voice to match the cheerful face.

“Hi, Shōyō” he responds.

 _“You’re about to play right!? Why did you call me? I’ll tell you all about what happened, later, ya know! Shouldn’t you be getting ready, now?”_ Shōyō looks worried.

Kenma hums. “We’re in losers bracket now after our 0:2 against Fukurōdani, though.” All of a sudden, the loss stings less. Taking this call was a good idea. His words are met with the kind eyes of his friend.

 _“You know… I’ll be on the starting lineup from now.”_ Shōyō impishly suggests, brows wiggling. Kenma can’t help the huff of laughter, he looked ridiculous with his forehead scrunching and loosening in an attempt to control the movement. A pout comes at him in response, anyway. _“Kenma~. I really reallllyy want to play against you!”_

Reality eases back down on him slowly. The responding _I really want to play against you too_ that threatens to spill is swallowed back down. “What use is it? Nohebi is a pain in the ass to play. I always feel like I lost something, or like a dirty feeling sets in after a match against them. They’re pretty strong even without their tricks, too.”

That’s when the piercing look, one that almost feels unfiltered through the loss of dimension of a screen locks into Kenma’s eyes.

_“So? You’re good right? Then what does the opponent matter? You just gotta be better. Simple.”_

Kenma stills for a second, tremors running up his spine before his blood runs cold and his lips tug into an inexorable smirk. “Gotcha.”

“Kenma! Let’s get a move on!” Yamamoto calls.

 _“You should go now.”_ Kenma waits for the connection to sever; he doesn’t like to hang up on the Shiratorizawa spiker and Shōyō knows this. Instead, that button nose twitches to sniff, rabbit-like. _“Kenma, you’re game sense could qualify as fortune telling and should practically be illegal. You said they play dirty? Put yourself in their shoes. What are they going to do next? Then.”_ he gets a flash of a full set of teeth _“back them into a corner.”_

He feels his lashes tighten. Advice like this from Shōyō is _rare_ , he’s normally the type to try and nudge people into figuring stuff out on their own. The only other time Kenma’s been on the receiving end was during an ill-advised last-minute cram session for a math exam.

Shōyō grins. “Give ‘em hell!” the line cuts.

Nekoma take the first game 28-26.

They take the second game 26-24.

Late into the night, a phone in Yukigaoka lights up to indicate a new message. It reads ‘We’re going to nationals.’

The owner of which responds with a hefty quantity of exclamation marks.

* * *

November arrived in a flurry of crisp, biting winds and falling leaves. Schoolwork picked up in anticipation of fall semester midterms along with volleyball practice with the ever-approaching nationals.

“Hey Hinata-kun! Have you seen this video?” Kai’s voice calls, collecting the curiosity of other members of the volleyball club on his way to the plot of gym floor Shōyō had claimed as his own.

Shōyō groans loudly, throwing his neck back to look pleadingly at the roof. Ayaka, Ito and basically every single one of his classmates had given him enough shit throughout the day to last a lifetime.

The white light of a phone screen is held up in front of his face, his eyes adjust to the brightness and focus onto the contents of the screen against his will.

He watches as a ball smacks into his own face for the nth time in the clip, _That was the spike from Karasuno’s ace_ his brain supplies absently.

The video is titled ‘Hinata Shōyō being the best libero for 4 minutes’ and is the reason he’s had to catch various stationary objects thrown at his face dozens of times an hour for the whole day. Because suddenly everyone he knows is an aspiring comedian.

Shōyō shoots a betrayed look at Kai, who is usually the mildest of the first years, and resigns himself to his fate.

“Maybe coach Washijō didn’t assign our roles correctly? Hinata-kun, let’s switch! I quiver in the face of your skills.” Kai chortles. Goshiki, who had snatched the phone to watch it with the rest of the team, cackles raucously.

And that sets it off.

“Shō-kun, your face is looking a little flatter than it was when we first met.”

“American football has those helmets, right?! Maybe we could appeal to competition organizers to get you one of those?”

He melodramatically wails, letting his head slump into free fall, destination: floor. His cheek is caught halfway in its vertical journey by a highly amused Reon-senpai, though, and Shōyō really wants to glare, honest. However, it’s impossible to be mad at the vice-captain, so hopefully the expression his face settles into still conveys the intent properly. _Just leave me to my suffering_.

“Careful, your face doesn’t need to feel the impact of a wooden floor too.” He says softly, and that’s when Shōyō realizes that the world has forsaken him. He sticks his tongue out petulantly.

He doesn’t even realize coach Washijō had approached them until the long-suffering sigh cuts through the joy-at-Hinata’s-expense party they were having.

They all whip their heads around to attention, but coach just steadily fixes his eyes solely on Shōyō. He raises a timid finger to his chest. _Me?_

He gets an eye roll. “The Youth Intensive Training Camp is coming up, as you know. This year, Karasuno’s libero – Nishinoya Yuu was invited.” Their captain looks up from his bench and nods. Shōyō’s been hearing about All-Japan for a while now and Ushijima had already been invited two years in a row. So it probably makes sense that they picked Nishinoya-san. Especially considering how much he contributed to Karasuno’s finals performance for all of the five games. “We’re also holding a training camp here at the same time too. Hinata. You’re going to be a ball boy.”

Shōyō lets out a groan worthy of a regency heroine. His head hits back against Reon-senpai’s chest, which is ricocheting with laughter. Glorified maid for a bunch of teenage sports egos for a week. That video warranted a punishment, sure, but that’s so _mean_. The rest of the team is now snickering as well, and even captain Ushijima looks amused. They’re going to milk this for every last drop. He shivers in dread.

Their coach just pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away grumbling about his age.

“Hey Hinata-kun! That means you’ll have even more balls headed towards your face! You’ll have such an intimate relationship by the end of this!”

“Don’t worry Hinata! I’m also going to be ball boy; I’ll protect your face!” Yūsho, bless his heart, declares.

Shōyō suddenly is jumping up, body moving into a bad idea before he can think. “Just watch! I won’t let a single ball hit my face! I’m going to be the best ball boy the world has ever seen!”

He just gets laughter in return. Futilely, with the help of hand gestures and rather assertive points – if he does say so himself – he tries to convince them to stop laughing and believe in his ball boy abilities goddamn it.

* * *

“Ball boy-kun” Shirabu drawls for the 16 billionth time that minute. “You know, I’d really like some water right about now.”

At this point, Shōyō just gives him the largest pout he’s able to muster, looking up at the cracking expression of setter through his eyelashes.

“Fineeee” he relents, walking off to the fountains. Snatching the elder’s water bottle along the way.

“Hinata. Wash the bibs in those baskets.” Coach Washijō says as he approaches the door. Shōyō nods, running to fill up the goddamn thing (there’s a hello kitty sticker on the bottom and no one on the team lets Shirabu forget it) before running back to hand it to the blond. But not before sticking out his tongue and making ears with his hands. “Meow” he teases before running off to the baskets of bibs.

He gets them to the washing station, dropping them in plastic basins he’s filled with water, detergent and sterilizer. Shōyō lightly jogs his way to the storage room, as there weren’t enough clothespins to account for the increase in bibs from their normal practices.

“Hinata-kun! Could you please arrange the carts?” coach Saitō asks, Shōyō nods and makes his way to the haphazardly strewn carts near the outside field.

He pushes along two on his way to the cluster, shimmying in between to get started on making neat, easily accessible rows.

“What are you doing?” a familiar, dry as all hell voice sounds. He jumps, not expecting the interruption.

“Tsukishima!” He looks up and yep, that level of sarcasm is signature. He gets a curious, albeit unimpressed stare. “Well you see,” Shōyō flaps his arm in an expansive gesture and quickly reaching for a rogue cart that rolled away with the absence of his hand. “I’m a ball boy!”

The disbelief quantity increases in Tsukishima’s stare.

“Hinata!” Yūsho comes by and drops some rather heavy mats into his arms. Shōyō stumbles, Yūsho grins – traitor, he did that on purpose! – and hears Tsukishima tsk. He looks up and glares “I’m sorry I don’t have your freakish muscle mass!”

He gets an apologetic pat on the shoulder from his fellow ball boy “I don’t know why coach Washijō’s working you so hard but you’ll have to wash and dry these as well, then we’ll ball boy matches for the rest of the day before wrapping up.”

Shōyō straightens up to give a salute and a grin. “Got it!” He drapes the boulder like weights onto a cart before pushing them into order quickly.

“Good luck Tsukishima!” he yells before sprinting to the storage room to grab a box of clothespins to stack on the mats in his arms.

Going back up to the balcony he begins the mindless but arduous process of washing and drying a large quantity of textiles. His view looks out to the outside courts that they’re using. His sigh fogs up in the chilly air. It’s sunny but the bite of winter permeates in the atmosphere. Watching from this vantage point, his mind flashes back to all the time he’s spent on the sidelines and the many notebooks he’s filled with diagrams and notes. The figures move in patterns, running up and back into formations and vectors that he’s plotted again and again onto coordinate planes.

When the Seijō blocker runs up to complete a standard 5-1 formation, Shōyō suddenly gets it. How had he forgotten that formations existed? Especially ones he could name instantly because of how much he’d pounded them into his brain. He hasn’t been thinking at all, has he? The adrenaline and the desperation of being put on the court had completely pushed back all of his work beforehand. He’d just been blindly chasing the ball around.

One of the only ways he’d been able to approach teamplay in volleyball before was through analysis and he’d thrown all of that out the window. There were so many details that went into volleyball, how had he forgotten how vital they were?

He resolved to watch and relearn all of it. He would learn how to work with the team with and without pre-planning. After all, Satori-senpai is an absolute god when it comes to stuff like strategy. The least he could do is not be a burden.

Shaking out the last mat, he makes his way down to the inside court for one of the practice matches.

“Reon-senpai! Semi-senpai! Captain Ushijima!” he greets, looking over at his teammates, then the red bibs of players, some of which he recognizes from briefly greeting during his water rounds this morning. Shōyō tilts his head into a quickly widened smile and raises a tiny wave of his hand when he catches a few of their eyes.

“Hinata! Don’t we get a greeting too?” comes the offended whining of some of his other upperclassmen. He grins impishly at them, a gale of breath releasing quickly from his lungs. “Hey guys” he inclines his body down into a brief apologetic bow. Watching as they huff back.

“Starting!” calls the ref for the match. _Saki-san_ , his mind supplies.

“Be careful with your poor face, alright Chibi-chan?” Reon squeezes the back of his neck before walking into position. Hinata makes his way to the other end of the court because given the captain’s spikes, most of the balls are more likely to end up on that side.

The game starts with a whistle. The first ball is goddamn service ace meant to bounce off the floor and into his face by captain Ushijima. He really wants to scream an indignant “Hey!” at the self-satisfied expression on his face. But he can’t. So he just puffs up his cheeks and feels as his face steams like a kettle. Reon-senpai, angel that he is, spares him a look of concern before shaking his head in exasperated fondness at his indignation.

This goes on for most of the balls that go his way for the next dozen or so rallies. The most recent one had smacked right into his upper arm and Shōyō is unbelievably pouty right now. He rubs at the muscle, slowly squeezing to ease the soreness.

He gets in position for the next serve, Semi-senpai’s, shoes squeak as they push against the hardwood and then- Wait… What’s that called again?

Shōyō sharpens his gaze to the feet of the outside-right player. He jumps a little, squats and receives the ball with startling stability.

It’s just a tiny little move.

_”Tama-yan! Practice passing with me!”_

_“What? Again?” Tama-yan asked before swinging back his racket to gesture to the tennis court. “Then help me practice first.”_

_Shōyō had grinned before jogging off “I’d already planned to!”_

_“Here I go!” he’d exclaimed before serving the ball at Shōyō as he scrambled to anticipate it, racket heavy in his hand. The following hour was, as usual, an opportunity Tama-yan had used to BM him. “Hit it back!” he had called with a grin “You suck!”_

_“You’re not going to take it easy on me?!” Hinata had called as he frantically raced to hit the ball._

_At the end, he’d been panting as Tama-yan stood, not in the least bit tired._

_“You have really good reflexes, Hinata. Sometimes, you even hit the ball back decently.” The other boy had remarked. “Just sometimes.”_

_He pushed himself off his knees. “But when I think about the fact that I’m about to hit the ball, I put my guard up and can’t move.”_

_“In that case, just jump up a tiny bit to widen your stance. That’s basic tennis.” he’d instructed patiently._

“Nice serve!” Shōyō exclaimed with a small smile at Shiba, who’d just spiked a rally past Soekawa and Semi, as he bounce-passed the ball to him for his next serve.

“Thank you!” he returned.

What was it? What else had Tama-yan said?

_“Want me to show you how to smash?”_

Godamnit, not that. Had he even payed attention to anything that wasn’t an offensive move?

It was spa… s-strap…? Spl…

_“Splatter step!”_

_“No! Split step!” Tama-yan had corrected. “Don’t make it sound like a murder scene!”_

Right. When someone makes contact with the ball, reset your stance so you can propel yourself more easily into position.

He mirrors the movement, practicing the feel a few times before captain Ushijima spikes into the receiver’s arms where the rebound is indubitably going to be an out.

Shōyō jumps into the ball’s trajectory. His hamstrings stretch at how low he squats, muscles precariously keeping his balance. _Smack_ He catches the ball, even though the strength behind it is still enough to slam his fingers and the leather into his face. A wet trail escapes his nose at the impact.

He can’t help the grin that stretches all the way up to his hairline.

Captain Ushijima lightly rolls his eyes.

For the next few days, he’s going to learn how to move less. He’s going to catch every single ball that comes his way. He’s going to learn how to read the ball accurately enough that he knows exactly where it’s going even when he’s the one receiving it!

He widens his stance again.

* * *

Kei walks into the gym for his second round of practices only to pause at the sight that greeted him on the other side of the court. It felt like the world fell away, centered around the form that stood in the backdrop.

Hinata’s stance was wide, legs bent into stable angles; perfect for a receive. Drops of sweat glistened as it caught on his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed in exhaustion. Shining lips fell open softly as an exhale let out, eyelashes fluttering, smudging to emphasize the sclera. It looked like his body was glowing, steaming, filling up the entire room with presence despite its physicality.

And then. The light caught, and Kei felt like he was falling into a hole, woken up weightless from the verge of sleep.

“It’s like he’s the only one in the middle of a game right now” he hears someone say, distantly.

His chest shattered. ~~_Beautiful._~~ Kei couldn’t breathe.

Gritting his teeth at his visceral reaction he turns away.

Ugh. He hated this.

He always felt like he had to do something whenever he saw him.

This urge to impress, to surpass. To have those gripping eyes look at him. _Only at him._

Christ. He needed air. He’d join the next rotation.

* * *

The lunch break is as awkward as it has been in every training camp à la coach Washijō that Reon has been made to attend for the last 3 years. There aren’t enough people from each school for a steady stream of conversation and the tension from his teammates aura honestly overpowers the average friendly’s desire to start up anything.

From the Shiratorizawa team, and any serious volleyball player to be honest, there is very little room for friendships in high school. With such a time-demanding club, making or maintaining friendships from classes is hard and so the only people he does talk to are in the circuit. This means that every face he sees regularly is either competition or his teammates who. Yeah. Don’t really get out much. Hinata-kun’s honestly an anomaly in that department. Reon sees him around school among different groups of people all the time and that’s not even mentioning the number of opposing teams he’s befriended. However, he doesn’t think anyone else on the team has noticed.

So, it’s safe to say that, as Hinata-kun is intercepted by two kids in casual non-sports wear on his way to eat his lunch – undoubtedly among some hapless group of volleyballers unready for his friendliness – most of their team did not take it well.

“Set fire to your hair!” The girl sings, jumping at Hinata to ruffle his head. Hinata yelps in shock before turning around and scolding her with a giggle and an “Ayaka-chan!”

Reon sees Goshiki and Shirabu furrow their eyebrows; as if the sight before them belonged to an alien invasion.

“Poke a stick at a grizzly bear!” the guy sings while poking Hinata in the stomach. Hinata pouts and rolls his eyes. (“Ito-kun!”)

Satori looks as if someone stole all his brain cells.

“Eat medicine, that’s out of date!” Hinata is the one singing now and the two light up like Christmas came early.

Ushijima’s about to have an aneurism, that’s the only way Reon can explain the expression on his face.

“Use your private parts as Piranha bait!” The three hip-check each other. “Dumb ways to die-ie-iee! So many dumb ways to die!”

Reon is honestly amused. The entire field seems to have stopped to ogle at the phenomena in front of them. Volleyball robots. The lot of them.

“Shōyō-kun! We were around and wanted to say hi!”

“That’s so sweet! How’s your breaks been so far?”

“Good, good. We’ve mostly been killing time at the arcade. Ai-chan from 1A-5 came along with her boyfriend yesterday to join, actually.”

“That sounds like so much fun! We should really hang out before classes start up again.”

“For sure! Oooh! Let’s do Karaoke on Wednesday? The one next to the ramen place?”

“I’m free.”

“Yeah! Natsu will be over at a friend’s house that day too, so I’ll be out and about anyway.”

“Cool. Anyway we gotta get going, now. This girl here has a _very important_ hair appointment.”

“It absolutely is very important, Ito! You just don’t understand that not all of us have naturally split-end free hair like Shōyō-kun!”

“Yeah yeah. We’ll see you Wednesday, Shōyō-kun. Line us!”

“Got it! See you guys!” Hinata waves them goodbye before plopping down next to Kai-kun and opening his lunchbox to eat, only for Satori to drape himself over his back and Goshiki and Shirabu to peer at his face as if it holds the secrets to the universe.

Reon rolls his eyes at the predictable possessiveness and complete confusion that’s practically emanating from the entire field.

Well, at least that broke the awkwardness. Seeing as everyone seems to have eased up at seeing the “almighty Shiratorizawa starting lineup” display their utter stupidity.

He bites into his riceball. Reon is way too emotionally stable for this sport. God.

(He has developed an itching urge to ruffle Hinata’s, admittedly very fluffy hair though. So, maybe not, actually.)

* * *

Shōyō’s teammates are weird. They’ve all been strangely clingy since lunch, for some reason and he doesn’t get why.

He managed to extract himself from them to see the game being played on his designated clean-up court.

The ball flies in a swirl of blue and yellow. This has been his thing lately. Watching them play from above.

 _Pat_. The ball bounces off the Seijoh player’s forearms. Kunimi’s receives look like captain Ushijima’s, actually. He doesn’t make any unnecessary movements.

Goshiki spikes.

“Hyakuzawa!” “Someone get that!” the voices overlap.

The whistle blows. End match. “We’re moving on to 2v2s!” the ref-ing coach declares. That’s Shōyō’s cue. He jogs down to enter the gym to the lower-level.

“I don’t want to be that guy, but… I’d rather not be teamed up with that two-meter dude.”

“Yeah, he’s tall but he still plays at junior-high level.”

Shōyō spends the entire game looking at Kunimi-san, who’s actually a really talented player that seems to always be aware of who he’s playing with and against. He walks towards the scoreboard to take over for the next game.

“I wish you were the one invited to play here instead of me.” He hears Hyakuzawa-san’s voice call out from behind him.

Shōyō pauses a little before backing up a bit, caught off guard. He looks down at Hyakuzawa’s seated position on the floor. He tilts his head.

“Hmm. You mean you wish it was you and me who both got invited here together, right?” Shōyō says “I mean, everyone who’s been invited here is pretty amazing one way or another _and_ you’re like super tall.”

He feels the stubbornness from Hyakuzawa’s posture wave towards him “What good does it do you to cheer me up?”

Shōyō feels the grin explode onto his face, he can’t help but catch the gaze of the player in front of him.

“Lots!” he declares, voice excited “After all… I wanna beat you!”

His grin still firmly refusing to leave his face, Shōyō crouches down to eye level. “What you gotta do is super easy! Just make the first pass as high as possible, like Kunimi-san does!”

The whistle blows, he leaves Hyakuzawa with two thumbs up before sprinting to the scoreboard.

“Let’s take it easy! Hyakuzawa!” he cheers.

The first pass goes high, and as Hyakuzawa stretches up, Shōyō is reminded of a tree reaching up to the sky.

“Man! You’re so big! I’m so jealous!” he hears himself exclaim, it’s just so cool!

They score.

“Hey Hyakuzawa! Nice kill!”

His palm warms from the high five he gets at that.

Time passes quickly from then on, and before he knows it, the scheduled practice is over and only the people who want to play some extra games remain.

He hums happily to himself (God damn it he has dumb ways to die stuck in his head now). He’s improved a lot today, met a lot of new people and even saw Ayaka and Ito!

Ah, it’s kind of sad that tomorrow morning will be the last of the camp. He picks the red bibs off the bench and walks towards the storage room with them draped over his arms. He’ll spend the last week of the holiday by continuing to try hard though.

“Hey.”

Shōyō turns his head to Tsukishima levelling him with an unreadable expression. “Yeah?”

“Come with me for a sec.” Kei says, pulse pounding into his chest as he watches the orange head swivel around in confusion before settling back on him in a sudden double take.

“C-come with you? For what?”

Kei really wants to take a breath to calm psyche himself but that’d give away too much. “Blocking practice.” His voice is thankfully flat when on auto-pilot. Good to know. Those warm eyes widen though, and he feels himself absorbing into them farther. “You’re allowed to do other things than be a ball boy if we’re practicing on our own right?” Aand he’s rambling.  
Hinata’s jaw drops open and his eyes sparkle brighter than a cross between Bambi and a puppy.

Kei can’t help but avert his gaze “I’m not going to force you-”

“Tsukishima and I are going to join in, guys!” he yells to a chorus of Thanks for joining in!s .

Kei turns to bow, careful of his posture, before walking towards the net. Ahhh, why is he trying so hard to be cool? God fucking-

They start to play and he sees them serve and set. “Left!” the setter on Hinata’s team declares as he jumps.

Tsukishima extends his arms up, eyes on the ball. It looks like a strai- it was a cross shot?

“Whooo!” Hinata cries to himself, cheeks colored rosy from happiness. That takes way too much of the sting off for it to be healthy. As per usual, those who haven’t seen Hinata play before stare in shock.

“You’re not a libero, Hinata-kun?” One of the guys asks.

“Huh? Do I actually look like a libero? Do I look like I’m good at receiving?” Kei rolls his eyes at the response.

“Ah I guess not…”

“I’ll block too!” Kindaichi stands from the bench.

“Two middle blockers?!”

“If you’re gonna spike, do it well because otherwise I’ll stuff it right back into your face!”

“Ooh, then me too!” the new Date Tech blocker stands.

Kei sighs, what is it about Hinata that just seems to make everyone so fired up?

The Shiratorizawa first year spiker stands at the other end of the court, declaring his presence almost comically. He flicks his hair as he walks past Hinata to his starting position.

Fuck. Why is there no such thing as chill in this world when that stupid head of orange hair is involved.

Hinata takes his place as ball boy again. Kei sighs even deeper. Well, at the very least, it _is_ good practice.

The guy tosses the ball to the setter running at an angle for a cross-shot.

Kei jumps. Damn, why is he now the shortest one?

It’s a line shot.

Hinata catches the ball securely. “Great shot!” he enthuses as that first-year struts like a peacock, pleased as fuckin’ punch.

“That was someone’s fault for leaving the edge wide open.” Kei finds himself saying passive aggressively to the Date Tech blocker. Just to be an asshole.

“I was positive he was going to do a cross shot though!”

Yeah, Kei’s not admitting that he thought the same. He heard this guy hasn’t been playing long though, he was in the lower circuits in middle school too so that _was_ a good prediction. Well. He’s from Date Tech so he shouldn’t be super surprised that he’s not jumping randomly.

“Hey Tsukishima?” he hears Hinata speak up from behind him. He turns. “Could it be that… You were just saying you wanted to practice blocking so I could have a chance to spike?”

“Nope.” Fuck. He responded way too quickly for that to be believable. Kei manages to resist the urge to bite his lip. Why the fuck is he so perceptive about the dumbest shit.

“Right. Of course not.” Hinata buys it though, and that’s all that really matter he guesses.

Besides. He does need to improve on expanding his blocking tactics and he can’t deny the fact that Hinata is a spiker that is really able to _see_ the blockers he plays against.

His neck heats up. He resolutely ignores it.

Of course, he’s going to want to practice against that.

* * *

Kindaichi ties his sneakers, preparing to walk home. He stands up, dusting his knees and grunting, starting at a leisurely pace towards his house. It isn’t super far.

“Hey! Kindaichi-san right? I think you dropped this!” He sees the orange-haired Shiratorizawa sub holding out his towel with a stupidly earnest expression.

He stops. “Yeah thank you,” he drifts off.

“Hinata Shōyō!”

“Hinata-kun” he nods.

He gets a cheery smile. “You’re welcome!” Kindaichi’s just about to turn and go but. He doesn’t actually know exactly why he pauses.

Hinata tilts his head, still smiling, with a questioning hum.

It’s just. The way this guy plays and the way this guy treats his teammates, even temporary ones is just- “Hey. Have you ever- done something awful to someone?” because surely, surely, if a guy like this has made a mistake then his is absolvable.

“Awful?”

Kindaichi exhales at the casual acceptance of his curveball. “Yeah. Like- I don’t know. Treated someone bad; even when they didn’t deserve it?”

The figure in front of him brings his thumb and forefinger to his chin thoughtfully. “If you don’t mind sharing, could you explain a bit more?”

“Yeah, uhm.” Kindaichi counts to ten. “There was this teammate of mine in junior high. He wasn’t a bad person and he was really good at volleyball, just hard to understand on a personal level and didn’t get along with anyone. I was jealous and I think probably did.. something… bad.”

“Are you talking about Kageyama-san? He was your number 2, right?”

His breath catches. He wasn’t expecting that. “How do you know?”

“I used to watch every junior high match I could because I couldn’t play them. So I saw the match you’re talking about, probably.” Hinata smiles kindly at him, soft eyes and sheepishly crinkled nose. “Sorry, that must have surprised you, huh?”

“Ah. Yeah.” The hot burn of embarrassment crawls up his throat and he feels his body split into contradictions on what to do from here.

“I think” Hinata’s voice interrupts his thoughts, insistent undertones pushing through words “That teammates fight all the time. And that it’s ok to make mistakes in how you handle a situation. It felt like there was no other way to get through to him so you guys did that, right?” Kindaichi’s gaze meets brown hesitantly.

“I’m sure Kageyama-san will be okay! He’s super talented and a really strong player so he’ll only grow from here on out!” He sees the steps forward Hinata takes to stand directly in front of him. A hand reached up to his shoulder, warm weight pressing into his jacket. “You felt it when you played him right? So make amends and do what you think is right.”

Eyes crinkle up at him, the setting sun reflecting a myriad of warm colors shimmering in those depths, warming his entire body. Kindaichi feels like he’s been peeled open, defenseless.

“You’re allowed to move forward too, you know!”

He feels the tears sting so he mutters a thank you before turning quickly and running tail, collapsing and sinking down against a wall once he’s out of eyeshot. Hopefully Hinata will be kind enough to not exit through the same gate.

* * *

Shōyō looks at the retreating back of white and teal, feeling a bit lost. Hopefully, he was able to help in some way. That amount of guilt isn’t easy to hold onto.

He’ll take the other gate to go home, there’s nothing more awkward than running into someone when you want to be alone. He’s walking and taking the train today, too, so the other entrance makes sense since it’s closer to the station.

Crossing the threshold into his house feels like entering back into a different world. _It’s tomorrow, don’t think about it until the time comes._

“Nacchan! I’m home!” he calls, while pulling off his shoes.

“Don’t call me that, I’m not five anymore, Shōyō-nii!” Natsu emerges from her room. “Welcome home! How was camp?”

He crouches a bit to tug at her hair, “It was great! Wanna help me with dinner? I’ll tell you more about it then.”

Natsu squints at him assessingly, Shōyō chuckles, “C’mon, Nacchan” he says, expecting the whine of _Shōyō-niiiii, stooop_ following him on his path to the kitchen.

“Did you like the food this week? Sorry, I couldn’t make any of it fresh.” He apologizes, opening the fridge to see the meal prep containers all gone. Hopefully his mom ate well this week too.

“They were great as usual. I wanna eat something warm though.”

Shōyō assessed the contents on the shelves. “Let’s make some mackerel soup then.” He takes out the fish, vegetables, kombu and dashi. Reaching up to get the pot for their rice boiler, he brings it down and turns to his sister.

“Natsu, I can trust you to cook the rice, right?”

“I’ve done this before!” she replies, indignant.

“I know, I know. Just checking.” He smiles helplessly before turning to his ingredients. Letting the running water and clinking of utensils wash over him.

A little while later he hears the door open.

“Hey mom! We’re in here!” he says, raising his voice over the sounds of Natsu peeling the onions.

“Hey, you two! Welcome back Shō-kun” she says, kissing them both on the head before washing her hands “Are we making mackerel soup? I’ll prepare the fish.”

“You can rest if you like, mom. We got this!” Natsu pipes up, giggling when their mom boops her nose as she delivers her last peeled onion to Shōyō.

“I know you two are very capable, don’t worry” he hears her laugh, Shōyō finishes dicing the onion before nudging the board towards their mom who smiles thankfully at him, haphazardly bunned hair slipping to gracefully frame her face.

They wash and dry the stuff they’ve used and set the table. Once they’re done they both gather around her, watching as she cooks.

“How was camp, sweetheart?”

“It was so fun! I learned so much, my receives got so much better I think and plus, I met so many new people! I saw Tsukishima there, too, he still is super _gwaah_ at volleyball! Ito and Ayaka came by yesterday to invite me to karaoke before school starts. I’ll drop Natsu off at her sleepover before joining them on Wednesday.”

“I’m glad” she says, smiling at him like she could feel every awesome thing Shōyō experienced with him. He looked down, reaching out to play with the string of her apron that Natsu hadn’t claimed for herself.

“Alright, hand me the bowls, we’re ready to eat.”

They shuffle around, rotating to the table, sitting down and saying thanks before digging in.

“Ahh, the fish that mom makes is always the best!” He says, feeling the warmth of the soup seep into his soul with every bite he took.

“Yep!” Natsu agrees, eating with impressive gusto.

“I personally love the rice Natsu made, good job!” their mom says, smiling at the both of them.

As they finish eating and washing up, Shōyō goes to lay out his mom’s and his clothes for tomorrow and fetch two futons to bring to Natsu’s room. They don’t sleep in their separate beds this day of the year.

He puts them on the floor and makes his way to Natsu’s closet to lay her clothes out too. Shōyō gently runs his fingers over her long-sleeved maroon dress and black tights to smooth out the wrinkles.

When he turns back around, he sees the futons set up and his mom sitting on hers. “Natsu’s taking her shower, now.”

Shōyō nods and walks up to settle beside her, throat tight. She puts her arm around him and gently squeezes. “Thank you.” She whispers, pressing her lips into his hair “Shōyō.”

Natsu emerges in her pajamas and a towel, hair damp.

They all tuck in to sleep.

The next morning Shōyō wakes early to shower and get ready. He quickly boils some miso soup and prepares a traditional Japanese breakfast. When he’s finished cooking he sets the table, taking care to set a plate of three umeboshi right in the middle. Healthy, but no one in the house remains who likes them. He’ll prepare the one for the butsudan right before they leave.

_“Why do you always eat three of them?” Shōyō had asked, guileless._

_“Well.” He laughed happily “One for you, one for your mom, and one for your baby sister who’s coming soon!”_

Suddenly his eyes sting and his throat tightens. _You should have eaten one for yourself, too._ he thinks.

When his mother walks in, flowing blue dress settled softly on her shoulders, her eyes immediately catch on the plate, shining into her memories.

_Laughter rings through the air and he can feel the lightness of the atmosphere as his father twirls his mother in the air, sky blue fabric flowing and fluttering in their wake._

_He sets her down and hugs her close as her eyes glitter at him, resting his forehead against hers, smile lines bunching up and saying softly, a secret meant for only them. “You’re so beautiful.”_

_They smile at each other before turning to Shōyō, holding the baby Natsu in his small arms and grinning up at his parents._

They take the car to the grave, buying flowers along the way. He promises Natsu sweets and that he’ll take her to the playground before grocery shopping and going back home.

Shōyō gently nudges his sister to kneel in front of the stone.

_HINATA HIROSHI_   
_1967-2008_

He breathes deeply. _I hope that, if you can see us from where you are, that you are happy and proud of us._

Humming softly, he lets his sister set down their flowers, a small bouquet of daffodils. Before holding her hand and leading her out. Their mom needs to have a moment alone.

“Do you have a lot of homework for the holiday?” he asks her, prompting some complaining and a list of all the stuff she has to do that she hasn’t started and how they’re _All due Monday, Shōyō-nii! It’s so unfair!_

Once their mom emerges, she drives them to her workplace where Shōyō unlocks his bike, which he left here before the training camp.

“Work hard, mom!” they chorus, hugging her before she walks into the building. Natsu climbs up on the back of his bike, hugging him around the middle as they leisurely make their way to the combini. When they walk in, he allows her to get 2 bags of grape candy and a daifuku.

“I’ll give you the second one once we get home, don’t eat it all at once!” he says before giving her the mochi and a bag of gummies.

Next, they bike the playground and he lets her roam free, sitting on a metal bar enclosing the area as a vantage point. Natsu plays around the slides and the monkey bard for a bit before a boy her age comes and they seem to hit it off. He smiles.

“Chibi-chan” he hears from behind so he turns to see Oikawa walking up to his spot.

“Oikawa-san! I thought you were calling me Shōyō, now?” he says happily.

“And I thought you had dropped the suffix.” The elder counters, booping his nose with a cold finger once he was close enough.

“That’s fair” Shōyō smiles “What are you doing here?”

“Looking after that brat who also happens to be my nephew.” He says, jerking his thumb towards the kid that Natsu was actively chasing around in a game of tag now.

“Ah yeah, the one he’s playing with is my sister.”

“I guessed, with the…” he gestures to his hair, Shōyō grins.

A comfortable silence settles upon them as he watches them laugh and run before Natsu finally agrees to give Oikawa’s niece some of her candy.

“You’re dressed nicely today” Oikawa breaks the quiet.

Shōyō hums “Today’s the death anniversary of our father, so” he trails off. The setter hums back sympathetically. “How’ve you been, senpai?” calling him Oikawa out loud felt kinda weird, to be honest. They weren’t that close were they? Shōyō really didn’t want to overstep with someone he respected so much. Unbidden, the feeling of arms around him and fingers wiping his tears came to mind. Shōyō’s ears heat up, hopefully he could pass it off as something caused by the cold.

“I told you. It’s Oikawa. I wouldn’t even mind if you called me Tōru but you’re already obviously struggling with the first.” The elder pinches his arm, reprimanding, then takes a deep breath. Exhale fogging with the crisp cool of springtime. “I’ve been alright, doing this and that.” He says vaguely, lost in his head. Shōyō won’t push, it’s probably private.

“That’s good to hear. Nationals is coming up so we’re kind of busy recently.”

“The demon coach strikes again, ne?” he asks airily. Shōyō honestly kind of finds it funny how so much of Oikawa’s energy is obviously spent trying to look like he doesn’t care. It’s such a teenager thing that it brings a smile to his face.

“Shōyō-nii!” he hears Natsu exclaim just as he’s about to respond. He turns to give her his full attention bracing for impact as she throws herself onto his lap. She’s freezing. “Can we come back here on Friday? I want to show Takeru that I’m way better at soccer than he is!”

Oikawa’s cousin, Takeru, trails after her yelling indignantly “You’re the one who’s going to be completely destroyed! Just don’t cry when I beat you!”

Shōyō pulls his sister closer to try and warm her up a bit, he looks questioningly at Oikawa. “It’s a bit cold for them to do outdoor sports. Could they do it at the children’s center indoor area instead?”

“I agree. Sweating outside in this weather is asking to catch something.” He turns to his niece and says “Yeah, we can do that. Remember to bring your ball though.”

“Yes!” the two whoop. Shōyō absently adjusts his sister’s scarf to tie more snugly around her neck when suddenly, as if realizing something, Takeru turns to yell even louder at Oikawa, gaze narrow.

“What’s wrong with you! You gave in so easily! You hate taking me out on Fridays and you always whine about how troubleso-” Oikawa quickly pulls at his scarf to wrap around his cousin’s mouth, muffling his next words.

“Maah. Don’t be so overdramatic Tacchan!” he says, eyes wide before turning to Shōyō. He looks rather jittery and cold, red high on his cheeks.

“We should all probably go home. You look cold Oikawa.” Shōyō says worriedly, placing Natsu on the ground and holding out his hand to hold hers. He walks up right in front of the taller male, the metal bar between them at hip level, and raises his free hand to touch the backs of his knuckles against Oikawa’s cheek. _Hot_ he thinks, frowning. Maybe he overheated from being too cold? That’s not good.

Takeru escapes from his scarf muffler and continues his freak out “Oh my god! Why are you being so weird! Holy-” this time Oikawa’s hand replaces the scarf as a muffler and he smiles, eyes closed at Shōyō.

“Yes I agree. Takeru seems to be freezing as well, aren’t you?” he asks with gritted teeth.

Shōyō doesn’t really understand what’s happening so he gives one last closed mouth, quirk of his lips and says a thank you, bowing, before he makes his way to his bike, with Natsu in tow.

Once they’re far enough out of earshot to be unable to pick out actual words he hears the two break into some sort of overlapping speech. The complaining tones unmistakable. He tamps down a giggle and lets Natsu hold on.

“It’s nice you made a new friend today.” He says as his sister drifts off into her usual cheerful chatter, prompting an even more excited wave of storytelling.

* * *

That evening, Shōyō felt a restless energy take hold under his skin and so he finds himself in the volleyball courts of the sports center. He absently sets and spikes aimlessly for an hour and a half. Directed practice isn’t coming to him naturally like it normally does today.

 _What would dad want for your future?_ The question rotates around and around.

His fingers itch at the set he misses and couldn’t spike. The ball bounces into a roll. Shōyō sighs. Life is hard.

“Twice in one day. Who could’ve figured?” Oikawa says as the door closes behind him. He picks up the ball.

“We seem to be running into each other a lot huh? Do you practice here, Oikawa?”

He gets a far-off look. “Not so much anymore. But I used to.” He then sharpens his gaze to examine Shōyō “But enough about me. You know,” his tone leaves no room for argument “It’s kind of amazing that your vertical is the way it is when you aren’t jumping correctly.”

Shōyō looks up at the setter curiously “What do you mean?”

Oikawa only holds out the ball as if to say _why don’t you find out?_

In response, unable to back down, Shōyō makes to take the offered sphere but it’s instead quickly taken away, held up above his height. He pouts.

The third-year only exhales in amusement. “I’m setting for you because that feint you did in that Karasuno game? The ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. God, I don’t even want to call that a toss.”

A giggle bubbles up before he can stop it.

“Thanks Oikawa!” he jogs to the right side of the net, stepping back a few steps to make room for a run up.

The toss is slow, high and flexible. Easy to hit and ideal for the jumping practice he wants to do.

Shōyō inhales before running up, carefully aware of every single part of his body and the way it moves.

His toes take a lot of the weight in his run, peaking right before the jump and when his knees bend to leave the ground, his body travels upwards almost diagonally.

He spikes.

That’s interesting, his could bend down way more. His calves and hamstrings don’t really even feel the stretch in propelling him upwards.

He jogs back in place, runs up again, but this time speeds up further to give himself time to bend down lower before he jumps.

He hits the ball from a bit higher. But that didn’t feel right. He can do more.

A more powerful jump, is that how to optimize it? Power is Force multiplied by velocity. Velocity is a vector and so has direction and magnitude. This means that the velocity of his run up doesn’t equate the velocity of his jump. Shōyō thinks of a free body diagram. Keeping his horizontal velocity and increasing his vertical means that he’s travelling less distance in the air to go higher.

He jogs back. He run’s up, careful to keep his weight off his toes, and when he jumps, he thinks of the way he propels himself upwards with his lower back the way he would in a depth jump, but using the leg formations of a broad jump.

He goes even higher. But that’s still not right. There’s a wriggling discomfort when he did that, like his body was protesting it every step of the way. He’s not sure how to fix it though so he’ll tackle the second component.

Force is equal to mass times acceleration but Shōyō doesn’t think that optimizing any of those would work. So thinking of it in regards to pressure is probably better. Force is then equal to pressure times area. Wait. That might be it. The balls of his feet have a much higher area and greater pressure than his toes.

He jogs back and pushes forward to run up. He has to focus more of his weight onto the balls of his feet and let the momentum from the run-up flow-

Upwards.

Shōyō soars.

He misses the ball.

He lands and quickly swivels to look at Oikawa, grinning. The sparkling eyes he gets back is honestly so so so great and is causing his insides to do some crazy acrobatics.

“Like that?” he asks. His cheeks hurt.

* * *

“Yeah. Like that.”

Tōru can’t _deal._ He really really can’t deal at all. When he has given the advice he’d just thought that reducing the horizontal would help with Shōyō’s vertical.

Instead, he thinks he’s just witnessed human flight. The happiness on that unnecessarily sunny face is too much. His pulse pounds an unbelievable amount of blood into his brain and he feels his eyes water. What the fuckk.

They practice for another few hours, until Shōyō learns to decently control his jump to get a hit rate of about 80% on Oikawa’s easy tosses. He can’t feel the strain in his fingers like he normally does, can’t feel anything but an intent fascination at what he saw today.

Every set that he sends over at that figure feels like it takes more and more of his soul with it. He puts even more care than he ever has into his tosses before and every time he sends over the ball, it leaves him empty and filled to the brim all at once.

When the balls in the cart run out and they go to pick them up, seeing those eyes and that smile and that face and this _person_ feels like a punch to the gut.

 _It aches_ Tōru thinks. But he never wants it to stop aching.

When they’re both done, lying starfished and panting up at the ceiling, he can’t help but turn his head to look at the figure beside him. Light and long lashes smudge against rosy cheeks that smile unconsciously, so purely happy that his hands tremor, and there’s a dimple. Right below his cheekbone. The most joyful place for it to be. _A dimple._ Tōru feels lightheaded.

Then those eyes open, wet and fluttering up at him, glistening perfectly. Tōru can’t feel his body can’t remember how to _breathe_.

“Hey. Random question but Kageyama-san was called the King of the Court back in junior high right?”

Even the mention of a sensitive subject like Kageyama isn’t bringing his heart rate down. Fuck. Ok. So. He can do this. His tongue weighs about as heavy as a cargo boat but he can be a normal person and have a conversation like a functioning human.

“Hmm” he tries for nonchalance. Maybe he’s successful? He doesn’t know. He’s kind of still stuck on the mirage of the dimple.

“You won the award for best setter, though, right? So, wouldn’t that make you the Great King of the Court?”

“I guess so.” The dimple is back. Jesus fuck. He wants to keep the dimple there all the time. Or maybe all to himself?

Shōyō pushes himself up, face teasing then thoughtful. Tōru focuses on compartmentalizing. This is not the time and place for whatever is happening to his body right now.

“It’s more like, he was a really demanding player. Inflexible. Was too strict with his teammates. That title isn’t a happy one for him.” See. Functioning human. Tōru pats himself on the back.

“But a setter _is_ essentially a King of the Court no? Directing the pace and where the spikers go? It’s a very similar analogy. Especially since, most importantly, a king’s power comes from his people. Like that time in the JH Athletics Meet, they can choose not to if they really don’t want to.”

Tōru catches a flutter of movement and the unmistakable hair of the subject in question through the window. He breathes, mostly out of his stupor, sitting up. “Surely there has to be a fundamental characteristic to be a good king though. Being a tyrant shouldn’t be something to strive for.”

“Kageyama-san is a good king now though, not a tyrant. Because no matter how much he asks his teammates about every single detail and acts all flexible, like you, Oikawa, that’s not him. At this point, he just needs to stop being so self-conscious and just accept that he _is_ a demanding king and trust in his teammates to tell him when it’s too much or to not listen to him if he goes too far.”

Shōyō is too observant by half, so Tōru’s careful not to look in the direction of the window that he saw Kageyama lean against. Shōyō has a point, but he doesn’t want to admit it when that kid is listening in though, so he just tilts his head to prompt the first year further.

“In a few years, when people call him the King of the Court. No one will see the bad meaning behind it. He’s too talented to let that weigh into his name.” Shōyō says, eyes wistful.

“Ahh, what I wouldn’t give to have a title as cool as that!” he says, falling back down to look up at the ceiling. Tōru sees the flutter of hair as Kageyama leaves. Probably off to brood or think about what Shōyō just said.

He sighs.

“It’s cool that you get to be the Great King, as well, Oikawa!” he says. It strokes his ego just right and he can almost feel his chest puffing up.

“I’m sure you’ll get a cool name someday too, Shōyō.” He says, but is unable to keep the arrogance out of his tone.

“I’ve got to try harder, though.” He sees Shōyō’s eyes harden and glint self-deprecatingly. “Way way harder.”

That honestly sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, in his humble opinion. But. Shōyō is stubborn and sometimes people have to make their own mistakes before learning.

“Just don’t hurt yourself.” He says, but the ears under all that orange hair have obviously tuned him out. He can only hope that Shōyō is able to bounce back when things come crashing down.

Being an athlete in and of itself, is a skill that one has to learn. It isn’t just about being talented on the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so. Why didn't I describe the Nekoma vs Nohebi match in more detail: it was, frankly, way too much effort. If you guys read last chapter's notes from me you will know how much blood, sweat and analysis I had to do for Shiratorizawa vs Karasuno and I just wasn't willing to do that for something I feel like wasn't super important to the story. I'm super sorry if anyone wanted more for that!
> 
> Also. Here's an opinion of mine. Nishinoya was the one who deserved the All-Japan Invitation. 100%. I will never back down on this because, in my honest opinion, Kageyama getting it was honestly a plot device to foil his improvement against Hinata. Noya deserved it more. 
> 
> Tsukishima saying “Ugh, I hate this. I always feel like I need to do something whenever I see him.” while referring to Hinata is a canon quote from Haikyuu!! and holy shit if this isn't crush behavior, I don't know what is!
> 
> Hopefully y'all liked the chapter and my next update won't be too long before it's posted. 
> 
> (Note to new readers: I reply to comments when I post a new chapter because that is my favorite part of writing this story so I'm really sorry if I reply late! Please know that I will reply for sure, and you'll get a new chapter when I do as well! :) )


End file.
